


By Bast

by LazyPerfectionist



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Lovers, Erik Killmonger Redemption, F/M, Fantasy, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyPerfectionist/pseuds/LazyPerfectionist
Summary: What happens when a nonbeliever encounters the very person she is tasked to redeem by Bast’s grace? A slow-burn tale of forgiveness, surrender and unwilling romance.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger & Original Female Character(s), Erik Killmonger/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic in 2018, a month or so after watching the movie. It was exciting to see a community of black writers blossom at the time, and it encouraged me to write my own fic and post it for the first time. Prior to this, I'd always written fanfic ever since I was a little kid (starting with Naruto, go figure) but had never had the courage to post anything. I'm definitely much older now, but I like writing fanfic. 
> 
> Anyway, posting from my tumblr account~ Hope yall enjoy. Maybe I will update again when I get inspired (or when the next movie comes out, who knows?)

You had never thought yourself silly enough to truly believe in the goddess Bast like so many other native Wakandans. At least, not until the day she renamed you in a dream.

You had woken up from a slumber deep enough that no earthquake, typhoon or raging fire could arouse you. However, rather than find yourself in the familiar surroundings of your regular sleeping chamber, you came to your senses back nestled against the bark of a low-branching acacia tree. The soft, thin sheets you slept with despite the ever–present summer heat had been replaced by a heavy black covering surrounding you up to your neck, thick enough to be a shag carpet. A few moments passed as your daze wore off, and you shot up to your feet, screaming, when you realized the quivering you felt around you was a multitude of cats, purring against your skin, paws lightly traversing your lap and nudging you gently.

Not only did you not believe in Bast, you were never particularly fond of cats. How sacrilegious.

You had almost reached the treetop in your frantic climb to safety when a larger black cat, large enough to be a jaguar or panther, began to approach from the distance. You knew these jungle cats were great climbers, and your heart started to pound in your chest as quickly planned how best to escape a mauling. However, the jungle feline, appeared to be changing form as it approached.

The cats that had gotten very still, watching you climb the tree with a communal look approaching curiosity, now appeared to turn and file out towards the approaching figure. The figure was now upright, legs lengthening, shoulders broadening, torso shortening, and head molding into the silhouette of a faceless man.

Your muscles tensed and your jaw clenched as it continued to close the distance between you, but you found yourself frozen in place by some unidentifiable external force. The man, or form thereof, stopped only steps away from the tree now, and golden eyes seemed to pop into life on his previously blank visage to fixate on you. You stared transfixed in fear as a mouth split open into a toothy grin, accented with four golden canines, on the black canvas that was his face.

You opened your mouth to scream, but no words came out.

He held an arm out to you, and the rest of his face appeared to fill in recognizable human features – a nose, cheekbones, ears, hair. Warm-hued, brown skin replaced the pure darkness that painted the creature, and he finally appeared fully human.

 _Don’t be afraid,_ you heard a female voice from nowhere in particular whisper directly into your ears. Your eyes darted around you in confusion, and you heard a high-pitched chuckle.

_Truly, don’t be afraid, my darling. I want you to be prepared when he comes, Nkiru._

Who the fuck was Nkiru?

Before you could continue to question your sanity, you somehow had found yourself on your feet below the tree once again, now face to face with the giant cat turned man. He did not say a word, but looked at you quizzically, the earlier inviting smile now gone from his face.

_Take a good look at his face, Nkiru._

He suddenly gripped you by your chin, almost roughly, to look up at him. Those golden eyes that were so monstrous a few minutes ago, appearing out of nothingness, now were almost gentle on an otherwise overtly masculine face. Your fear and apprehension somehow dissipating, you took a few moments to study his facial features – his full, broad lips, his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows, the pattern of his facial hair, his crown.

He let go of your face, and you cautiously raised your own hand to touch his cheek. To your surprise, his skin was softer, smoother to the touch than expected. He lay his own hand on top of yours, and your heart skipped a beat. You dropped your hand to your side immediately, your face growing hot. You stepped back, and now taking the time to take in the rest of him, realized he was completely naked. Embarrassed, you averted your eyes away from his manhood, almost tripping over a cat in the process of distancing yourself.

If this was some sort of weird sex dream, you decided you were very repressed and probably needed to lose it to someone real soon.

_Remember him, Nkiru. Protect him the best you can._

You took another quick glance at the man that had towered over your own quite athletic 5-foot-7 frame, wondering what threat could be posed to him that you could somehow overcome in his stead. He was now seated cross-legged in the grass, rendered slightly more decent by a black cat sitting in his lap. As he pet the animal, a look of peace and contentment washed over his face, and you could not help but smile for a few seconds, before you realized this whole situation was too weird, and grimaced.

Your name was not Nkiru. You were hearing voices. You didn’t know where you were. There was nothing around you for miles except grassy plains, black cats, this tree, and this random cat who had turned into a person before you.

“What the actual fuck kind of dream is this?” You whispered to yourself under your breath, if not just to know how real your voice would sound coming past your lips.

The airy, feminine voice chuckled softly in your ears again and you suddenly felt a wind pick up from around your ankles, swirling around your body to your shoulders, at which location it warmed and solidified, like the feeling of smooth arms holding you in an embrace. You felt a chill run up and down your spine, and froze.

_Don’t fret, my child. When you wake up, you will know this was real._

The man appeared to have gotten bored of petting the cat and rose to his feet. Before your eyes, he flashed a smile again before he reverted back to jungle cat form, much faster than he had transformed into human just a few moments ago. He circled around you once, and walked off into the distance, droves of smaller cats appearing to follow suit. You only now appeared to notice that the sky over the horizon was cloudless, and painted with hues of lavender and orange, accented with stars.

_This man could be a great leader, but his heart is filled with hatred and contempt. Teach him what Wakanda has to offer, Nkiru._

“My name isn’t Nkiru.” You said, to no one in particular, now alone on the plains. “I think whoever you are, you have the wrong person or the wrong dream.”

 _It is now_.

With those words, you woke up in a cold sweat, but unlike waking up suddenly from a nightmare, you arose with a serene calm you figured was akin to waking up from the dead. It occurred to you to check your pulse to make sure you had not actually died, and you were reassured by the slow _thump-thump-thump_ of your heartbeat.

You were truly shocked by how little you were unfazed by so vivid a dream sequence. The face that the voice had commanded you to memorize was now firmly etched into your mind, and you were sure you remembered reading somewhere that your brain does not make up faces in dreams. But you were also just as sure that you had never seen that man before in your life.

You clutched your bed sheets closer to you now, reassured that they were no longer a literal swarm of felines, and looked out your window. It was still dark, and a quick glance at the holograph above your end table confirmed that it was still the middle of the night – 2ish am, the witching hour. A cool breeze was wafting through the opening and the fact that you couldn’t remember opening your window would have normally spooked you but you were, again, uncharacteristically peaceful. You didn’t bother to close it.

Instead, you lay back down on your side, and tried to sleep again. For a split second, you wondered if that could truly could have been a visitation from Bast. It certainly included all the motifs – the cats, the acacia tree, the plains, the atmosphere, the voice of a woman.

Then again, that was silly. Maybe you had spent too much time at the Herb Garden and let Papa Zuri convince you of Bast’s presence one too many times. You had just had a weird dream, and would forget about it soon enough.

And you did, until the first person who you spoke to the next day, your tutee turned play sister Shuri, referred to you as Kiki rather than your actual nickname just moments after you woke up. Then again, until you made your daily stop at the spiritual compound to say good morning to your mentor, and he smiled wide at you and welcomed you, Nkiru. As the characters in your life responded with puzzlement at the shock and confusion plastered on your face whenever your new name was called, you became panicked as you became more and more sure that Bast really had appeared to you in your slumber and given you directions.

That night, you prayed for instructions on what to do, but as expected, received no clear answer, no lyrical voice that seemed to be coming from somewhere both deep inside you and around you as you had that night.

You did decide to find out what the name Nkiru meant. _The greatest will come,_ you read. _A good future. Future goddess._ Maybe scratch that last one. You wouldn’t bother deluding yourself that far.

It was an old name originating from the Igbo tribe of West Africa. Diminutive of Nkiruka. This didn’t make any sense. You knew for a fact that you had come as a child refugee from a country called Cameroon, and the Igbo were primarily from Nigeria.

_The greatest will come._

The metamorphosing man suddenly came to mind. Would he be the greatest that is yet to come? The goddess had alluded to him become a powerful leader if not for his hatred.

Yet all you saw were a wide, sincere smile and beaming eyes.

You shook your head, as if to physically remove him from your thoughts, and sat down at your workbench to catch up on some clinical review articles you had neglected to read all day. It would take you a while to adjust to this new name, and now you wondered just how long it would take for that man, your assignment from Bast, to appear.

He was cute, after all. And how hard could showing him around Wakanda be? 


	2. Chapter 2

“For Bast’s sake, why are you guys so loud?!” Amina hissed loudly, all but drowned out by the music booming out of the overhead speakers almost directly above your table. You noticed out of the corner of your eye a couple turning to give you a dirty look and grimaced, raising your glass to your lips. Across from you, your other two girlfriends paused their raucous laughter for a split second before breaking out into more giggles.

“Please _madam_ , can we not laugh?” Kali said, pushing back her long Senegalese twists, fallen to her face in all her excitement.

“What’s funny?” Amina pressed on your behalf. You personally were unbothered, but Amina, now recently being accepted as a late term Dora Milaje, was a lot more serious about keeping the going-ons of the palace under wraps. You, however, were content to let them talk as much as they wanted, and your friends usually did just that.

“Well…” Kali began, rolling her eyes.

“It’s just that after all the years of Ms. Scientific Revolution here yelling ‘ritual is antithetical to progress’, ‘ritual makes us slaves to habit’, or ‘ritual is overvalued in our culture’, now she’s in the temple bowing like she met her god personally.” Asha chimed in, her deep alcohol-induced blush apparent on her face, pale from albinism. She threw back the rest of her cup, and as she met eyes with Kali again, both immediately both burst out laughing.

You sighed, and Amina, seated by your side, frowned at the two but eased back into her seat, crossing her hands over her chest. She watched your expression with a sympathetic look. You raised an eyebrow back at her, wondering what she was so concerned about.

“What?”

“ _Did_ something happen?” she asked.

You shook your head no, but internally acknowledged that something truly had stirred inside you over the months since that night. Although your daily routines were the same, you now found yourself staring too long into the faces of strangers, and praying every night to a goddess you were sure for years never existed for an explanation. You even found yourself now enjoying the weekday mornings you spent tending the Herb Garden with your adoptive father, and had started to spend half-hours meditating in the spiritual compound on the weekends.

Working in the garden was initially a chore you loathed growing up, even more so than the one-on-one spirituality and divination classes Papa Zuri had put you through every weekday. You had all but escaped a true apprenticeship thanks to King T’Chaka, who found that you were better suited for the department of science and technology division, as it was before Shuri revamped it. (Later on, you had found out per Asha that part of the reason you were removed from some of the temple duties was because some of the older medicine women had begun to complain about your irreverence and thought you’d eventually set off some catastrophe if the gods got angry.)

Unfortunately for your adoptive father, the side effect of the dual appointment was your insistence on lobbying him for less discretionary use of the Herb. What he insisted was sacred, you insisted was simply mutated and could be mass produced for common use the same way vibranium was.

Now that you were pretty sure you had been visited by Bast, the Heart-Shaped Herb was no longer simply as a symbol of how the monarchy monopolized an organic resource that could be shared with many. You wanted to know what kings truly saw when they ingested it, and if it felt like anything in your own dream, apparition, whatever you called it.

Kali scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s what she says every time. Oh, definitely nothing happened, but all of a sudden, she’s respecting our religion.”

Amina gave her a dirty look, and Kali retorted with a cheeky grin, but her eyes revealed a faint nervous glimmer. Amina was at least six feet tall, with a large, muscular frame, and she looked intimidating with her originally full head of back length freeform locs now freshly shaven and ceremonially tattooed along the sides of her skull. Kali’s 5’1 waifish figure didn’t stand a chance if it truly came to blows.

“Are you really going to start taking the priestess work seriously?” Amina asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity, deciding to disregard Kali’s comment, which overheard could have actually had some serious implications. Religion and spirituality were paramount to most, if not all, of the townspeople, especially considering all the blessings Wakanda had presumably received from Bast. You had too often been protected by the fact that your father was the high priest, such that no one actually believed the rumors that his daughter was everything short of sacrilegious.

That, in addition to having immigrated from the outside, was a recipe for disaster.

You shrugged. “It’s probably too late to become a priestess, but I can at least take the time to learn the rituals for real. Who knows, maybe I could do the one for Prince T’Challa’s coronation.” This last part you shared without looking up, instead focusing on the ice cubes swirling in your glass as you shook it. You knew Amina, who was particularly smitten by the prince, would take the comment as a humble brag no matter how it was intended.

It would likely be a long time until the next ritual combat for king would begin, but the preparation could be good learning.

Amina’s eyes widened in surprise at your response, and clapped her hands together in shock.

“See how she disrespects us!” Kali snorted. “ _Maybe_ she’ll crown Prince T’Challa.”

She jumped to her feet, and grabbed Asha by the arm, who had long since tuned out the conversation and by the look of it was busy undressing several men in the club with her eyes. “I beg, let’s go dance. My song is playing and these men in here are… how you say, _fiiiiiiiine_!”

Mad over You by RunTown was now coming through the speakers, and Kali and Asha went whining off into the crowd. Amina tapped your arm, and when she saw you weren’t about to go anywhere, smiled with understanding and ran off with the other two. You would join them in a few; it was the last night Amina would be able to move freely outside the palace anyway. The second they had disappeared into the crowd you locked eyes with a handsome stranger across the room who flashed a flirty half-smile at you. You smiled back politely and lowered your eyes, but as soon as you realized he was making his way over, _Nope_ went your social anxiety and you threw back the last of your drink before making your escape to the restroom.

A haze was slowly starting to form in your mind as you sat in the bathroom stall, waiting out who-knows-what, until you caught the flash of your communication bead from the corner of your eye. It was a message from Shuri. You opened it.

 _My father is dead_.

* * *

In less than a week, all mourning rites had come to a close and Prince T’Challa had become King T’Challa in a triumphant show of power over the Jabari tribe. You were amazed at how intensely your entire country could grieve and turn around to form the explosion of vibrant joy that was Challenge Day. But then again, your Wakanda was magical and blessed, and the whole country knew it.

Today, you were escorted into the throne room by one of the King’s guard and presented before your new crowned king. Shuddering as the entryway panels shut loudly behind you, you immediately bowed your head deeply to greet him before being walked closer to the throne. Amina, head now fully shaven showing her full induction into the Adored Ones, stood out proudly from the line of guards posted along the walls of the throne room, and shot you an excited look, eyes twinkling. Unfortunately, the general, Okoye, noticed her lose focus and shot her a disparaging look. Amina quickly faced forward with renewed stern expression. She wears that warrior face well, you thought to yourself.

You looked away from the guard and faced T’Challa, who regarded you warmly. The throne appeared to suit him naturally, fit him like a glove. Yet it was no true surprise as by your recollection, he had been regal from the very first day you met him as a child.

“Come on, you have known me for too long to be doing all of those formalities.” He said, chuckling softly, motioning almost embarrassedly for you to stand up properly as he walked closer to you. He seemed to tower above you more than usual, and you wondered if he had grown taller since the last time he had seen you or if his new title had encouraged him to stand a little more confidently.

“That’s probably true, my King. But customs are customs, right?” You responded, smiling.

“Ah, stop with the King nonsense, Nkiru.” His hand rested softly now on your shoulder, and you found your face growing hot in embarrassment. Not here, not in front of Amina, you thought.

“Would you rather I have your guard destroy me for showing disrespect?” you quipped back with a sassy grin, eyeing Okoye whose lips betrayed a small smirk. You made a dramatic show of raising your hands in surrender, but mostly to shrug his hand off you, and he sighed, amused but exasperated.

You weren’t being facetious, this truly was more comfortable for you. The fact of the matter was that for some unknown reason, you had always felt some emotional distance from him. T’Challa was always Shuri’s older brother to you, and regardless of how aware you were that he was handsome, intelligent and sweet, you had been relatively immune to whatever unconscious charm he had on most girls in his vicinity. Sometimes you suspected that T’Challa realized this and would put the charisma on overdrive. Most likely he just enjoyed being the most eligible bachelor in Wakanda.

Too bad for him that most everyone in the capital knew how he felt about Nakia, princess of River tribe, who had come back from a posting as a War Dog to witness his coronation. You had even overheard a few girls in coffeeshops lamenting his relationship and hoping he had a long-lost brother or cousin or anyone else they could set their affections on.

There was a pause, and for a moment you began to worry about the true reason you had been called so formally. Then you remembered a rumor circulating the gardeners regarding T’Challa storming out of the spiritual compound after talking to Zuri a couple days ago. If this had anything to do with that you knew nothing, and hoped to continue being ignorant.

T’Challa suddenly broke the silence, clearing his throat softly.

“I just wanted to formally thank you for taking care of Shuri that night,” he began. “When…,” he paused for a moment, knowing the next words would be painful. “When my father died, I wasn’t able to be there for her and my mother, and I appreciated knowing that you would be there as her friend to console her.” He smiled again, with the slightest twinge of sadness this time.

“It was my pleasure, Kun-, I mean T’Challa,” you replied. He looked almost relieved that you’d stopped calling him king. Satisfied, he placed his hands behind his back and walked whimsically back to his seat. “I will add that I was pleased to see you at the ritual, even partaking in it.” He chuckled, settling back into his throne. “Imagine my surprise when I woke up from the ancestral plane to see you among those watching me.”

You cocked your head to the side in confusion.

“I’m just saying it was nice, that’s all.” He mused. Okoye now walked up beside you, and declared to the king that there would be an impromptu strategic meeting in a few moments. With that, you prepared to bow out quietly. However, just as you began to make your way towards the exit, a parade of elders seemed to spill into the room, almost spinning you a full 360 as their attendants rushed in and lined the walls.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Nakia’s father, the River tribe elder, exclaimed as he entered the room. Flamboyant as he was, his attendants quickly rushed to place a chair beneath him and he eased into it without looking back, crossing his legs as he sat down. “I will have you know that I, too, have plans and cannot be rushed in to talk about any foolish man that wanders onto our territory.”

T’Challa’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing, allowing the growing commotion to build.

The Merchant tribe elder sucked her teeth as she was accompanied into the room by her own attendants, hands behind her back. The Queen Mother and Shuri came in together, muttering quietly under their breath.

As quickly as the rest of the elders entered the room and were seated, their attendants scurried out of the room. Whatever was going on was serious and private, you guessed. A fan of minding your own business, you attempted the same…

Until you heard the voice again, and your heart skipped a beat as a wave of panic crashed over you.

_Stay a little longer._

Your legs were frozen in place before the door, but your interior felt like fire and flames and thunder. Something big was about to happen. The grumble and brouhaha of the assembly had quieted into a low hush and you could feel eyes on you as your back as you, the intruder, stood motionless before the doors to the assembly. But no one said a word. And if they did, you paid them no mind.

You soon could hear a multitude of footsteps on the other side of the entryway, mirroring your own fast heartbeat. You held your breath.

The doors slid open, and you saw him, the literal man of your dreams, in the flesh for the first time. As you matched this new stranger’s features to your recollection, time might as well have stood still. You felt the same cool wind without a source from so long ago blow past you, and then a new wash of that eerie calm. Your heartbeat stabilized, your breathing slowed, your muscles relaxed.

The stranger’s arms were shackled behind him, but those handcuffs may as well have been a fashion accessory. He held his head high, walking with a confident swagger into T’Challa’s presence as if he were giving the Border tribesmen a tour of his very own home. His eyes quickly surveyed the room around you, taking it in and then rested on you.

He gave you the same quizzical look you’d seen before. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was replaced by a smirk.

“You cute and all, but uh, you gon move out of the way so I can talk to ya King?” he said, voice low, smooth and flat with disinterest.

Like an incantation, your legs seem to unstick from the center of the room, and you ran out of the throne, overcome with a feeling between offense and minor humiliation, to let him do his damage.

Bast would have to help you out with this one.


	3. Chapter 3

You had to see your father, and tell him everything. As long as you could figure out what _everything_ was. You still had no idea what was going on.

What you were alarmingly sure of was that you had finally laid eyes on that man. That image had finally materialized into something tangible - a real life, breathing, _rude as shit_ person. And sort of foreign criminal, no less. You guessed he was probably an American – you and Shuri had watched enough movies and Vine videos to pick up different variations of English speech. He certainly reeked of the entitlement of a true born and bred American. In only a couple of words, this stranger had managed to make your blood boil in a way you had never thought possible.

You had to admit that you had set yourself up for embarrassment. Why the hell were you intruding in some outlaw’s audience with the King, anyway? What could you even say? That you had been spiritually compelled to stand in that exact spot to face that stranger as he entered? Better to keep your mouth shut instead. Hopefully, you could come up with an excuse in time. You knew the Queen Mother had a sassy rebuke saved up just for you. But that was another issue.

Right now, it was evident that something was being set in motion after many months. It was time to talk to your father. You checked the time on your bracelet, and figured you could intercept him at Mujaji Meadow.

* * *

Established in honor of the goddess of sustenance Mujaji, the western courtyard was a huge tropical fruit orchard that doubled as a safe space of reflection for many of the members of or serving the royal court. It was a sort of sanctuary for the senses, featuring seemingly endless rows of mango, papaya, avocado and citrus fruit trees and filled with the quiet, cheerful chirp of canaries from an overhead aviary. A few feet away, you spotted your father with two baskets at his feet, filled to the brim with nearly ripe fruit for the children that would visit the temple that week.

“Good afternoon, Baba.” You balanced one of the baskets on your head. “Are you well?”

He picked up the other, smiling. “As good as I can be, thank the gods. How are you, _intombi_?” he asked, as the two of you walked the softly trodden path through the trees.

“Just fine, Baba,” you replied. You were betrayed by a mere split second of hesitation and he slowed his step to a halt to give you a knowing look.

“I was not born yesterday.”

You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, and he sighed exasperatedly.

“I know that look, Nkiru.” He said. “You have something to say to me. What is on your mind?”

Your smile vanished and your lips pulled into a grimace. Quickly, you led him to a small wicker bench facing a small fountain in the center of the orchard for both of you to sit down, anticipating it would take a minute to explain. Zuri peeled an orange and offered you half, but you were unable to eat, your stomach now doing somersaults as you realized you would have to explain the inner turmoil you had nursed for all these months. In a way that made sense, no less.

Some part of you felt like your father already knew why you had become strange and had been patiently waiting for you to finally share. Another part of you was sure that was just wishful thinking. Either way, it was now or never.

You took a few minutes and let out a deep sigh.

“I had a dream,” you began. Zuri looked at you attentively, his silence coaxing you to continue. “It was many months ago, but I dreamt of cats, and I heard a voice. A woman’s voice…. And I saw a man I had never seen before.”

You paused, waiting for him to ask for clarification. He continued to eat his orange wordlessly, and you continued to focus on the babble of the fountain, attempting to rearrange your thoughts into a coherent story.

“The man first appeared like a huge black panther before he turned human. He never really said anything. He just watched.” You paused. “He smiled.” A gentle warmth crept up your cheeks as you remembered his hand on your face, then an angry heat rushed over as you remembered his real life counterpart’s arrogant smirk, just a few moments ago.

“What did the voice say?” Zuri asked, his voice with a sudden edge foreign to you. You tried to read his face for concern, but he continued to stare straight ahead, but somehow unfocused at the same time.

“It told me to protect him.”

He didn’t say another word, and you both sat in silence. You were suddenly embarrassed that you had even said anything, as the words hung in the air.

He stood up abruptly. “Let’s go.”

You found your face growing hot again as you watched your father walk off without so much as a word. This was not what you’re expecting.

You ran to catch up to him, now markedly upset.

“Baba, did you hear what I said?”

He stopped, and turned to look at you. “I heard you.”

“And you’re not going to say anything?” Where was the advice? Where was the spiritual guidance? You felt somehow cheated. Did he not care?

“Are you concerned you dreamt about a man?” he asked, not bothering to look back at you as he continued to march off. You were now almost at a trot to catch up with him – the old man walked rather quickly – and a mango rolled off the basket still balanced on your head, but you didn’t stop to pick him up, far too upset you were being ignored.

“Yes, I am concerned!” Your voice unintentionally rose with frustration.

He stopped, turned abruptly and gave you a stern, almost harsh, look.

“Is that man T’Challa?”

The question caught you off guard enough that you froze. He shook his head, turning away from you again, his voice now rising as well. “The king is off limits!”

“What? I’m not interested in the king!” You protested. Zuri did not reply and you found yourself getting more and more agitated, as you both reentered the palace.

“Baba, the man I am talking about! I saw him today! He requested an audience with T’Challa. He’s an outsider!”

The shift in brightness between the orchard and the inner palace was blinding enough that you didn’t notice your friend Amina had been watching from the entrance, hoping to get a word with you. Your eyes were only on Zuri, who could be as stubborn as a goat when he no longer wanted to hear what you had to say. He reached his hand out for your basket, signifying that he was done with you for the day, and wouldn’t allow you to follow him. You looked him in the eyes fiercely, hoping to transmit all your frustration at not being listened to.

“Anyone. But not the King.” He repeated low, now keenly aware of his surroundings, leaning in towards you as you passed him the fruit.

“I. Don’t. Want. The. King.” You repeated through your teeth.

“Keep him out of your dreams.” He said, almost seething, and that was his last word as he left. You were now fuming. Your father was literally impossible, and you were almost certain he hadn’t heard a damn word you said.

You watched him in shock and anger for a few moments, then jumped, startled as you felt a hand on your shoulder. When you saw that it was Amina, you let out a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry.” She said, smiling weakly.

“How much of that did you hear?”

She wouldn’t tell you that she heard you say you weren’t interested in T’Challa. Instead, she shrugged.

“Seemed like regular difficult father stuff to me.” She replied. You shook your head in defeat.

“You’re right.” Amina gave you one of her classic reassuring smiles, and you felt your blood pressure fall into a safe, life-sustaining range. But she had come for a reason.

“So what happened in there earlier?” Amina asked.

 _Here we go…_ you thought. Even though she was one of your best friends, it probably wasn’t worth it to burden her with the concern that you might actually be going crazy.

“I don’t know. I was just kind of curious I guess.” Even without looking at her, you knew Amina was giving you the side-eye.

“You almost looked like you knew him.” She said in that soft, yet firm way of hers. You laughed, perhaps a bit too nervously, and definitely inappropriately.

“That’s ridiculous.” You responded, but before you could even begin to change the subject, your friend took you by the arm gently. In seconds, you and her were both flying down a long, poorly lit, flight of steps.

“What the hell? Where are we going?” Your tone had heightened with confusion.

She didn’t respond, and her grip had tightened enough for you to know she wasn’t letting you go. It was a little concerning to say the least, but you trusted her even if she was acting strange. Amina was your best friend, after all.

You both stepped into an elevator and she let go of your arm as the doors closed. Before she opened her mouth to explain, it had finally occurred to you what was going on.

She was taking you down to the Captives Quarters, she said. You suddenly became so angry, you shook visibly.

“So everyone just thinks I’m just full of shit today?!” you said, angrily. She didn’t bother looking down at you and you waved your hands furiously in her face.

“Can you stop that ‘I’m unbothered because I’m a mighty Dora’ crap please? It’s been like, what, a week since you were inducted?” You sneered. That jab seemed to reach her, and she whipped around to stare you down with irritation.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I was ordered to bring you down here and figure out why the hell you stood staring at this man like your whole world was crumbling.”

Your heart was now pounding in your chest and your face grew hot once more. Amina’s lips drew into something between a smirk and a sneer.

“See. Stranger, my ass.” She crossed her arms, and leaned her back against the elevator. She let out a sigh. “This elevator ride is like a full ten minutes. Just tell me what’s going on now and we can figure out a way to get the order off your back.”

A few minutes of silence passed, and you threw your hands up in frustration and leaned on the wall against her. “It’s not like you’ll believe me.” You muttered, softly.

“Try me.”

You did and she doubled over, laughing so hard she was crying for a full five minutes.

“Yeah, no one’s going to believe that.” She finally said seriously, as soon as she collected herself. You shot her a _No shit_ look, and she grinned, a snarky twinkle in her eyes. “And, love the name change is honestly the craziest, most unnecessary part of this story. At least leave that nonsense out, when you share this story again,” she added.

You rolled your eyes, deciding you no longer had the time to bother defending your truth.

“Anyway, let’s go meet this bastard again.”

The elevator doors finally opened after what seemed like an eternity and the two of you arrived to another secured gate. Amina pulled a Kimoyo Card from her breastplate and swiped it haphazardly across the opacified glass. It morphed into transparency, and you saw him laid comfortably, with one knee up bent towards the sky, on a small cot by the corner. His face was turned to the wall, but you could see the muscles of his arm tense for a split second. He had sensed our presence.

Yet he wasn’t fazed by it. He flipped over to his other side to face you, head on his hands like he was about to drift off to sleep any moment and shot the two of you a smirk.

“Oh, y’all visiting?” he taunted the both of you. Amina frowned and held tighter onto her staff, knuckles whitening. She was clearly threatened by him and that fact unsettled you. She was bolder than any woman you knew – well, short of Okoye, anyway.

Mischievous look unwavering, those coffee brown, not golden, eyes descended on you again. He sauntered up to the barrier, as though even this jail cell had become his own. Although you both knew the boundary between you was indestructible, Amina reflexively stood partway between you to, her weapon now angled closer to horizontal in case she needed to strike. Emboldened by her defensive body language, the prisoner placed both his hands on the glass, leaning his weight on it with an almost comical half-smirk on his face.

“’Sup babygirl?”

You were all but furious that this irreverent joker was still making your heart skip a beat.

“I knew you’d eventually come by. Ain’t like I’ve never seen that thirsty look in your eye before.” He started to chuckle, but Amina quickly interrupted him.

“Shut the fuck up and we’ll do the talking.” She almost growled, now completely standing in between you two.

He cocked his head back in exaggerated shock and disbelief, then raised his hands up in mock disbelief. “Damn, okay bitch. You hella aggressive for what though? Ain’t T’Challa let none of you bitches get laid?” he joked, glancing at you for a split second, almost as if for approval. You, on the other hand, were too shocked to laugh. Here was a man, miles upon miles underground, in a foreign land, immediately cuffed and thrown into a jail cell, and now face-to-face with a warrior armed with tools more powerful than any weapons he’d ever seen in his miserable life before.

And jokes? He was making jokes? No, he had to be scared shitless, you told yourself. This was either some ridiculous coping mechanism left over from some early childhood trauma, or he was significantly more dangerous than you thought.

“If you think I won’t hesitate to batter every single living demon out of you before you challenge the King, you are oh so very wrong.” Amina snarled, to the man with a now entertained look on his face. “ _Isidenge_.” She muttered under her breath, relaxing her staff to vertical beside her. This man thrived on discomfort and she simply wasn’t going to let him have it. She regained her position beside you once more and motioned for you to speak to him.

You were terrified yourself, but your voice came out smooth and firmly. Holding his gaze, one that almost seemed to have softened as he watched you despite Amina’s harsh words, you asked him who he was.

“You know who I am.” He said with an uncharacteristic softness, catching you off guard. As he spoke, you spotted his golden canines, all four, glinting softly in the dim light.

You could feel Amina’s eyes burning into your side in confusion, and shook your head quickly.

“No, I have absolutely no idea who you are. If you recall, _sir,_ I wasn’t exactly there while you spoke to T’- the King. How would I know who you are when this is the first time you’ve ever set foot on our soil?”

He sighed, for once his whole body not swelling with overconfidence. He scratched his head, and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his military issue pants, rolling his shoulders back. “For real though, I wonder what the fuck been going on, too. But I’ve seen you before. ‘Bout a few months back.”

Your eyebrows raised in disbelief, but he kept talking. For once, he didn’t hold your gaze steadily enough to intimidate, and instead faced the ground, like he was all too aware what was about to come out of his mouth was ridiculous.

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen you before, in this place that looked straight out of some shaman voodoo shit. I don’t even know how I got there, and some invisible bitch kept giggling some incoherent shit in my ears. Then I saw you off beneath that cliché-ass African folktale tree.”

Amina scoffed at that last remark, but he ignored her. “You were just sitting there, meditating or something. You told your name was…” Your birth name fell off his lips and your mind was sent into a frenzy.

He knew – this stranger, he knew the birth name that had somehow been forgotten, erased from existence forever, in one night.

“Ah-ah, this fool! That’s not even-“

“Yes, it is.” You said softly, facing Amina sternly. Amina frowned, and then shook her head.

“What? This doesn’t make any sense?!” Amina interjected, now having enough of this ridiculous story. “What could he possibly mean he’s seen you before?” She actually looked as frantic as you were still, considering the implications of your story and his revelation. She placed her hands on your shoulders, shaking you into responsiveness. You were suddenly frozen at the thought that maybe you weren’t the only one who had had those dreams, and that this man had shared them with you.

“I…” Your mouth quivered, at a loss for words. He had none for you, and stared back at you with only a hint of confusion. The glass opacified suddenly enough that you gasped, and you turned to see Amina with a horrified look on her face.

“We have to go.” She said. You didn’t respond.

“This girl! Oh my goodness!” she yelled in frustration. “This man challenged the King!” She was now pacing back and forth, her hands clasped over her shaved head. “This man, this stranger, this foreigner came in here, said he was son of Prince N’Jobu, accused late King T’Chaka of murder, and demanded the throne!”

Your eyes widened in shock, and again words failed you – but not her.

“Do you know exactly how incriminating this is?” She glanced at you fiercely, and shook you gently, annoyed at your silence. “Hello?? You were supposed to just say something like ‘No, I have never met you in my life’ and we were all supposed to go home, and everyone was going to attribute your weird behavior to Bast-knows-what, but now instead you come and say some incriminating nonsense and you know when that glass is see-through - “ she pointed frantically at the barrier, now a one-way mirror, now conveniently soundproof, “Every single word gets recorded, so now I can’t even lie for you and I just- “

Tears were welling up in her eyes in panic, and you couldn’t tell if it was your own panic or the empath in you that was causing your own eyes to sting. Amina wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pressed her forehead to yours.

“I don’t think I can protect you.” She whispered, tears now fully rolling down her cheeks.

“Is it this bad? Am I in that much trouble already?” You whispered back, just inches apart.

“Okoye suspects someone from the outside let him in.” she said, pulling back from you, hands placed on your face.

You gave her a crazed look. “And all they could come up with is me? Just because I stood too long in the throne room as he came in?”

“They were just covering their bases, Nkiru. It’s not every day that someone comes in and shakes up the palace this way. They sent me to get you because they thought you were a long shot…. Shit, the challenge is tomorrow.”

You gulped.

“What do I do? What happens next?” you said, voice small and cracking.

“If he loses, you’ll be interrogated by the Dora right after he is thrown back in holding.” She said, and your stomach turned. Your next utterance should never have been your next utterance, given the circumstances, but it came out anyway.

“What if he wins?”

Amina recoiled as though she had been slapped, and her hands dropped to her sides.

“I guess in that case… he gets to decide what happens next.”


	4. Chapter 4

You hadn’t slept more than a few moments the entire night, between shooting furtive glances at your bedroom door, and drawing your blankets so tight over your head that asphyxiation would probably get to you first before any of the Dora did. You shot up at the crack of dawn, feeling almost electrified, and frankly surprised you had made it till morning without the King’s guard breaking down your door.

Today was challenge day. Amina had advised you to act as usual, and to go fulfill your duties as usual at the spiritual compound but you were nervous. You weren’t sure if word of your would-be treason had gotten to your father yet, and you were even more embarrassed to face him, now that you had not only ended on bad terms, but were potentially in some deep mess.

Your Kimoyo beads blinked, alerting you to a message from Shuri.

_I’ll see you at the falls! Hopefully this nonsense is over quickly and you can come back to the lab with me. I have some amazing stuff to show you!_

You smiled, appreciating her unbothered, cheerful approach to everything. At least she didn’t seem to think you were suspect. Reassured that you weren’t already public enemy #1, you bathed and dressed for the day. The apprentice shaman robes, a few hues lighter than the deep violet of the elder robes, hung heavier on your shoulders than you expected over your plain white sheath dress, reminiscent of a suit of armor. You hadn’t expected to deliver on your promise of serving in a ritual this early, but here you were. You wrapped a long necklace of cowrie shells around your left forearm five times for good luck and set out to Warrior Falls.

* * *

Something was about to go horribly wrong, and you knew you weren’t the only one who could sense it in the brisk mountain air. Everything about this particular moment was uncharacteristic of a Wakandan morning. The extra nip in the air, the clouds swirling angrily overhead appearing to threaten rain and thunder, the way the audience, reduced to a small, exclusive number, seemed to be watching with bated breath… It was all wrong, all much too ominous.

The man who called himself N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu, arrived onto the arena, and all too quickly, it was clear that this would not be an ordinary battle.

It wasn’t just that today he looked even more impressive in stature – hardened by whatever had also spurned that constant contemptuous look on his face – but the way his square shoulders remained relaxed in the face of mortal combat in the way only a man who had continuously looked death in the face could. He reeked of both hate and confidence. As you stood between Zuri and one of the king’s guards, eyes focused unwaveringly on the stranger, you began to wonder why T’Challa had accepted his challenge.

“This is your last chance.” T’Challa warned, tone level and flat. “Throw down your weapons, and we can handle this another way.” Always calm and collected, you could just barely hear a faint echo of exasperation in his voice.

His opponent smirked as he removed the armored vest covering his chest. “I’ve lived my entire life for this moment,” he declared, revealing rows and rows of small scars patterning his whole upper body underneath his clothing. As he described the source of all those marks on his skin, your stomach turned, wondering how someone could have such sheer disrespect for life. There had to be several hundreds, maybe a thousand lives, each reduced to a few squared centimeters of purchase on his body.

He is the last person in the world who needs protecting, you thought. He was the danger.

Unfazed, T’Challa readied himself for the assault as N’Jadaka drew his weapons. Your body tensed up at the clang of steel hitting steel as N’Jadaka landed the first strike. The struggle had only been going on for a few minutes, both parties evenly matched, but it felt like it drew out for hours, as the notables of the country watched intently.

Suddenly, T’Challa swept the stranger off his feet. The king pointed his spear down to him, with a moment’s hesitation, as though suggesting he yield rather than be destroyed on the spot.

Stunned only momentarily, N’Jadaka quickly got to his feet, and with renewed fury, began to hack and slash indiscriminately, appearing to conjure additional power with every strike. T’Challa now appeared to be pushed back further and further by the onslaught, despite having the upper hand just moments ago.

You could sense T’Challa was holding back, but why?

This was not looking good. The air itself seemed to thicken with the audience’s rising tension. A sudden chill ran through your spine and you suddenly needed something to hold, and settled on wrapping your robes tighter around yourself. The only question running through your mind repeatedly, was “could T’Challa lose?”

Suddenly, your cowry shell necklaces snapped, and you attempted to catch the ends in your palms before it unraveled. A few cowries slipped through your fingers to the wet ground - four of them total, all open-mouthed. You gasped, as you realized the Gods and ancestors had just answered your question with a resounding, enthusiastic ‘Yes’.

When you looked up, T’Challa had been brought to his knees, and you averted your eyes quickly, trembling.

Shuri’s shrill scream broke the onlookers’ silence, pleading him to snap out of whatever daze he was in. T’Challa, however, rose only to be pierced in the abdomen, and dropped again to his knees. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No one was prepared for this.

T’Challa was hit hard once more in the face, and now lay face down in the water. You opened your mouth to scream, but any sound you made was drowned out by the cries of the royal women, and the deafening sound of your own blood pounding in your eardrums.

Fury ablaze in this soon-to-be murderer’s eyes, N’Jadaka lifted his weapon overhead to strike the final blow. That was when your father did the unthinkable - he intervened.

In a swift motion, Zuri disarmed the assailant, tapping his weapon to the ground with his spear. N’Jadaka was as stunned by the action as the crowd, who began to murmur sounds of shock and disapproval.

 _Go now_ , you heard _her_ voice like trickling water down your spine. Bast didn’t have to tell you twice – you had already began to run towards the fight to protect your father from this madman.

But Zuri’s next words came out too quickly. “I am the cause of your father’s death. Not him. Take me instead.” He pleaded. And before you could process this new development, your father’s lifeless body slumped to the shallow water with a soft splash. Such a soft diminutive sound, but so deafening.

You suddenly couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

You pounced.

* * *

“Damn, and niggas in the hood really be dying from _gunshot wounds_?”

Half exclamation, half whisper - you knew intuitively you should have been able to recognize that voice, but no one came to mind. A silence hung in the air, and you could sense that person was not the only person in whatever space you currently existed in. You could feel a quiet tension – but otherwise, the rest of your sensorium was shot.

Was this what it was like to be dead?

You may have laid there in silence for another few seconds, or another few years. Then suddenly, it seemed as if a gear in your core had started turning, and warmth spread through your being. Your senses were returning to you, slowly, surely, but your eyes wouldn’t open. You gained feeling in your extremities – your toes first, then your fingers. Soon you could feel the muscles in your legs twitch, your dry, dry throat gasp for air and your chest pound heavily.

Your eyes still wouldn’t open. The reticular activating system is a trip.

“Why she still like that?” A hand gripped tightly at your left shoulder, and you winced in pain. Once the stimulus was gone, you could feel your back, bare against a hard, cool surface.

“She’s breathing so wake her ass up. I ain’t got all day.”

A quiet voice popped up, challenging the first. A young woman whose voice you did not recognize either.

“S-Sir… I’m sorry, I know it is taking a while but we do have to wake her up slowly so as to ensure that she keeps her cognitive faculties when she wakes up. We have found that-“

“I ain’t ask for all them details. Just wake her the fuck up, I got places to be.”

Fingers snapped impatiently, and you mustered all your strength to try to force your eyes open again. Unsuccessfully.

“Wake her the fuck up!” the voice bellowed, and in seconds, a rapid, piercing electric shock tore throughout your whole body. You shot up like a board, diaphoretic, screaming and writhing in anguish for what seemed like an eternity, gripping the sides of the narrow examination table you had been laid so tightly you felt your fingers go numb again. When your eyes had finally refocused before you, panting heavily, you were face to face with the man who had killed your father.

That nightmarish smirk spread across his handsome face again, and he leaned over you, gripping the sides of your examination table as well so that you were eye to eye. You reflexively drew back into fetal position, realizing with a shock your dress and robes were gone, and all that covered you were your undergarments, telemetry stickers, and a small abdominal binder, tightly wound below your ribcage.

You covered your abdomen with your arms tightly, and looked at him, eyes wide with fear. You had no idea why you were in an operating room, but wouldn’t put it past this psychopath to have just harvested your organs. As if he could read your mind, he laughed.

“Damn, relax. I ain’t that crazy.”

You saw your father fall to the ground in front of him once. Then twice. A third time.

Your eyes glazed over and you began to shake violently. N’Jadaka’s expression turned blank and he looked towards a petite woman in the corner, likely the one who had resuscitated you, and she almost let out a squeal before reaching into a small warmer to grab blankets. She wrapped them around you gently, and hurried back to her seat, pretending to look interestedly at your vitals on a small screen above your head.

You continued to stare straight ahead and didn’t speak. He almost looked frustrated.

“It was a reflex, honestly.”

You were suddenly ablaze with fury, but remained very still. The monitor started to beep loudly in concern as you went into sympathetic overdrive. _A reflex? Murdering my father was an afterthought to you?_

“Where is my father?” you seethed. He genuinely looked confused. You repeated your words through your teeth, and he mimed scratching his head. If he hadn’t been half-naked save for a monstrosity of dark fur coat, you would have grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and spit in his face.

“You mean-” You wouldn’t let him finish his sentence.

“You killed my father!” You spat. “I saw you! We all did! The King will have you executed for what you’ve done! Just wait!” Like a madwoman, you shook, you trembled, now full on wailing and sobbing.

He looked again at the woman in the corner whose face had grown downcast. When he looked back at you, his golden teeth gleamed again to match the glint in his eyes.

“Guess what, babe? I am the king.”


	5. Chapter 5

_I am the King_.

Those words, so casually said, hung lazily in the air like cheap helium balloons.

Suddenly it all made sense. The dream, the voice, the renaming, the sudden subversion of the royal family courtesy of an extended family member from a distant land, your father dying in a single moment. There was only one explanation.

You were loony as hell.

And just like someone who was loony as hell, you drew in a breath and cackled at the top of your lungs. Loud, maniacally, until your throat hurt, until tears rolled down your cheeks.

Like someone who had to laugh to keep from falling apart.

N’Jadaka, clearly disarmed, shot a furious look at the other woman in the room who seemed to be attempting to compress her already small figure to invisibility, pushing further and further into the corner of the room.

“Fix this. _Immediately._ ” He growled, as he got up and walked promptly out of the room. Through your snickers, you watched him shove his hands down his pockets, his broad back hunched over as he stormed out of sight. You could tell he was so upset that if not for the fact that almost all doors in any large Wakandan establishment were automatic, he would have slammed the one before him hard enough to shatter it. For some reason, this fact alone almost made you double over again with pure hilarity, but when you bent over, a sudden jolt of pain ran through your abdomen right under your bandage, making you inhale sharply.

And then you started to cry.

The lady finally decided it safe enough to approach you, and placed a hand on your back, rubbing it in slow, small circles. You normally were not a fan of contact from strangers, but her gentle touch was oddly comfortable and your body relaxed as you wept silently for what felt like an eternity. When you eventually sobered up and looked up to her with swollen, red-tinged eyes, she smiled softly but wearily.

“Do you know where you are right now?” she asked. You shook your head no, but given the architecture, you guessed you probably were somewhere in the palace. There were so many extra hallways, entire wings tucked away that you could have never had access to, being only an associate of the royal family.

She sat at the foot of your bed and folded her hands in her lap. “You were hurt very badly just this morning, and we brought you here to treat you.” Her words came clearly and well-enunciated, revealing her concern for the integrity of your mental state. But you knew that was silly, because you were perfectly stable. Definitely entirely delusional, but stably so.

You nodded your head, encouraging her to continue.

“Do you remember what happened before you lost consciousness?”

Then you saw your father falling, falling, falling.

“Baba…” Your tears welled up again in your eyes, but you were tired of crying. She placed her hand on yours and squeezed it.

“Yes, and I’m sincerely sorry for your loss. Do you remember anything that happened after that?” You shook your head no.

“You attacked the man who was just here a little while ago.”

“Good.” You responded flatly. If you were going to act on instinct, it was reassuring to know you had good ones. You could see a phantom of a grimace on her face, and you sighed loudly in exasperation.

“What happened to me then? Just give it to me straight.” You didn’t mean to be short, but you were losing patience quickly. Yes, you had just cried, then laughed, then cried again, and were the definition of emotional lability, but you weren’t _that_ unstable. She didn’t have to spoon-feed information to you like a child.

She gave you a wary look, and you gave her an encouraging nod. “I’m fine. In a minute or less, please give me all the details. I’m fairly educated, I’ll understand.”

She hesitated again, closed her eyes briefly as if to reconcile herself to saying what she was about to say, and then pointed to your bandage. “Okay well, here’s the synopsis. You were impaled in the left upper abdomen.” You grimaced, placing your hand on your belly. Now that you had positioned yourself better, you only felt an occasional throb of pain. Oh, how you loved Wakandan medicine.

“Given that it was in the middle of ritual combat, no one was allowed to provide medical services, and you bled pretty significantly. However, you were lucky because the rest of the battle appears to have been,” the woman who was likely your doctor cleared her throat slightly, “short-lived, and… you were spared.”

You scoffed. “I was spared?” But you knew better than anyone that ritual combat was a concede-or-die ordeal for anyone involved, and that those who interfered were punished by death by the Dora. Sometimes even on the spot. A chill ran down your spine, and your doctor knew by your expression that you didn’t need any further explanation on that aspect.

“We repaired lacerations to your stomach, spleen and a portion of your small bowel, which is why you probably still feel some pain if you move too quickly, and you’ll have a touch of nausea likely later tonight. But you will be okay.” She said that last part confidently, squeezing your hand again, and you thanked her politely.

“We’d like you to stay for one night, just so we can watch you. We can provide you a more comfortable bed now that you’re awake, some entertainment and food in a few hours once we’re sure you can handle it. Your pain should be well controlled as long as you don’t-“ She paused again, with a small frown, probably thinking of your wild laughter from before. “Exacerbate it. We also have some medication to keep you settled from those strong emotions… especially since you’ve been through a lot. Unfortunately, we can’t allow you any visitors without approval, since this facility is private.”

Visitors. Your father was dead. You had no other family now. You’d lost two families now. Who would come see you?

Amina, Shuri, T’Challa –

T’Challa. Concede or die was the outcome of ritual combat. And N’Jadaka didn’t seem like the type to take prisoners.

 _No, no, no_. You immediately pushed the thought out of your head and settled on the fact that you were batshit crazy. You were going to wake up and find out all of this was a drawn-out nightmare, maybe a psychotic break, and then you’d be fine again and see your father and keep living the life you’d always been living, before any of this Bast nonsense.

“Let me show you to your room, honey.” The doctor helped you to your feet, and led you out of the procedure suite.

* * *

It didn’t exactly hurt to walk, but you were markedly unsteady on your feet the entire way to your recovery room - if that’s what one could call it. It was spacious and meticulously sanitized, or maybe it was just the overabundance of cream tones evident in the décor. Either way, the room was bright and immaculate in a way that was almost disconcerting, reminiscent of the padded rooms in old-timey mental hospitals. Your doctor, sensing your distress at a room with no windows, pressed a button by the door and a large section of the wall across from you dematerialized to reveal a windowpane. It was later in the day than you expected - soft rays of light from the Wakandan sunset streamed through, replacing the unnatural, fluorescent light that shone from the high ceilings.

She helped you into a reclining armchair that almost swallowed you whole as you sank into its softness. Across from you, above a large, mahogany desk equipped with a computer and a miniature bookshelf, was a holographic projector almost the size of the entire opposing wall. You would at least be able to entertain yourself for the night.

“Everything, as you probably guessed, is voice-activated. We encourage you to walk as much as possible today, but if you need any help, don’t hesitate to call.”

You nodded your head yes. Although this armchair was comfortable, you just wanted to sink into the four-poster bed in the furthest corner of the room. You quickly dismissed the thought of moving, too physically and emotionally weary to participate in such a grand action.

It was only after the doctor had been gone for almost a half hour that the surrounding silence, normally a friend, began to suffocate you. Too afraid to be alone with your thoughts, you turned on the projector. Maybe watching the news would settle you.

In seconds, N’Jadaka’s smug visage filled the screen, and you yelped, reflexively chucking the controller across the room. So much for being settled. Taking a few short yet deep breaths, you decided the only way to inform yourself would be to listen, no matter how nauseated it made you feel.

Even the newscasters looked a mixture between shock and confusion as they announced the upheaval of the royal family. The Queen Mother and Shuri were now in hiding, a new king sat on the throne since yesterday.

And T’Challa’s body was yet to be found. The voices speaking in Xhosa started to drone on and become more and more muffled - you felt like you were dissociating.

“Turn off.” The projector blinked into a thin line before vanishing, and you sat in silence anew, trying to numb yourself. Ironically, the throb in your belly now seemed louder, and your thoughts unwillingly flitted back to N’Jadaka. You figured he had stabbed you right after stabbing Zuri, but you had been “spared” evidently.

Did he actually regret hurting you? Was calling it a reflex his sorry excuse for an apology?

Before you could scold yourself for ascribing human feelings to that monster of a man, you heard a loud buzz and the doors to your suite buzzed and slid open. Your eyes darted frantically to the entrance, afraid that your thoughts had unwittingly summoned the devil.

But instead of that nightmare, running through the door came Amina, crushing you in an almost desperate embrace. She said nothing, but the warm tears hitting your shoulder made it abundantly clear that she was more than glad you were alive. Your body shook as you tried to hold in your own tears.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again, no matter what happens.” She croaked, still not letting go.

“You would if it had been you.” You responded. She pulled back and glared at you.

“I’m serious, Nki!”

Okoye loudly cleared her throat from afar, interrupting Amina’s eventual lecture, and Amina straightened up to attention, eyes forward to her. You also looked at her expectantly, confused as to why she had come. Her eyes narrowed as you met them.

“It’s good to see that you are recovering.” She said, coolly. Okoye was naturally sharp-tongued, but the edge in her voice was more vitriol than anything.

“Thank you.” You responded, in the half-questioning tone that revealed your uncertainty with the authenticity of her wish. She smirked, and your stomach turned again. Was she upset she didn’t get the chance to kill you or something?

“ _Your_ king has requested that we come check in on you.” She said, now leaning her back against the wall with her arms crossed. Her spear, ever within arm’s reach, also lay perched against the wall, and you eyed it, wondering exactly how long it would take her to lunge across the room to murder you. She seemed to want to.

But you needed to clarify one thing.

“ _My_ king?” You repeated, sharply.

Nose flaring, Okoye had crossed the space between the two of you in two seconds, spear gripped tightly and at the ready. You could hear Amina hold her breath, silently cursing your big mouth. You felt the blood rush from your face.

“Whatever silly arrangement you two have, don’t believe for a second that I won’t get to the bottom of it.” She spat, only inches away from your face.

_Arrangement?_

The confusion in your face must have reassured her because she relaxed into her usual smirk again.

“Either way, you will not be leaving this room any time soon.” She announced. “King’s orders.”

You turned to Amina in panic. Facial expression vacant, she slowly unwrapped a small parcel, and set two warm containers of rice and tomato stew on the ottoman before you. She placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Make sure you eat,” she said, warmly, and gave you a warm hug before she walked to meet Okoye who still wore an acrid look on her face.

The two of them turned to leave, and you sat, stunned at the prospect of this recovery suite turning into a prison. The walls seemed to close in on you the moment they left.

Okoye stopped right before the door, the bitterness in her heart at losing her very own king too much for her to bear alone.

“I hope missing your father’s burial is worth it.” She said, just loud enough for you to hear, as the doors slid shut.

You snapped.

It was enough for you to spend the rest the night screaming and cursing at the overhead to let you out. You may have thrown yourself at the doors once or twice, trying unsuccessfully to break yourself out, bruising a few ribs in the process. You may have thrown Amina’s labor of love at the white walls, hoping someone would be sent in to clean it and you could seize the opportunity to break yourself out. That red-orange stain, now dried and sour-smelling over the hours of the night, seemed to stare into you just as much as you were forced to stare at it. You cursed yourself for being the worst possible person you could imagine.

At least you could find solace in the fact that you would never be as bad as the jackass who had left you here.

Once you realized your attempts were futile, you decided to curl up on the floor of center of the room. Maybe these were simply theatrics, but you couldn’t stand the idea of waking up well-rested in the fancy bed offered by a murderer. Laying there, curled up with all the nervous energy of a stray cat, you didn’t expect to fall asleep. Yet somehow, you drifted off sometime right before dawn.

It was much like that strange, too realistic yet otherworldly dream, many months ago. But this time, you were walking side by side with your father in the garden, just like you had the last time you argued.

“I’m sorry, Baba. For everything.”

You stared into your shaking hands. “I couldn’t stop it… and I couldn’t even make it to your passage- “ You choked up, for the millionth time. All you did was cry these days.

“You are forgiven, my child. Don’t fret.” Zuri said, his hands gently patting the top of your head. His smile was warmer than it had ever been since. It was heart-wrenching.

“I will make sure he pays for what he did,” you resolved. Zuri let out a burdensome sigh and shook his head.

“Penance for one’s sins is a complicated affair, my dear.”

You woke up abruptly, and found yourself tucked warmly into bed. The room revealed no recollection of your inner turmoil – all books were neatly tucked into place, furniture was in its original position, and the food stain had been scrubbed so cleanly off the wall, you could have sworn it was actually whiter than it had started off. You must have been out like a light.

_Penance for one’s sins is a complicated affair._

You were strangely calm this morning, not the eerie calm of a person who was plotting murder and revolution, but one of someone who had transcended hurt and sorrow. This was Bast’s peace setting in again. You didn’t deserve this kind of peace. You took some time to pray, hoping to invoke her voice, but received nothing.

In just a few moments, the doctor’s voice sounded overhead.

“I hope you are well-rested. The king requests your presence in one hour. Stand by and shortly we will have you prepared accordingly.”


	6. Chapter 6

Erik N’Jadaka Stevens sat patiently, still enough that if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, one could have mistaken him for a wax figure. Quiet and calm he appeared, as he sat on the throne of the cousin he had so cleanly deposed. Yet the storm raging within was undeniable. Erik was, for the first time of his life since he had vowed to take revenge on the family that abandoned him, unsure of his next move.

This uncertainty was obviously unrelated to his plan for world domination – that was clear cut. He had already announced his plan to the Border Tribe general, W’Kabi - they would deliver weapons to all parts of the world where his kin were being mistreated. The best part is he wouldn’t even bother taking time out of his day to talk to rebel leaders. A quick drop-off of high-tech tools of destruction without any guidance or restriction would lead to just the type of anarchy he needed for a paradigm shift. True leaders knew how to seize an opportunity, and he would be the orchestrator of it all. He would let the whole world burn and build it up from the ashes to his liking.

Yet however smoothly his mission had gone according to plan, he couldn’t shake how unsettled he was by that single person - a woman, no less. Never for a moment had he ever been moved by anything of a woman, whether it was a pretty face, a voluptuous body, or a bright, cheerful smile. In fact, he often preferred when his obstacles were women, for he found them terribly easy to manipulate. A little kernel of attention here, a small act of kindness there. Add in a smile, and they would bend over backwards for him.

Somehow, this wildly insignificant woman had impressed on him more than anyone as unremarkable as she was should have the power to. Maybe it was the fact that when she gazed into his eyes that first day in the throne room, he had felt the world stand still for just a split second. Despite having easily pushed her aside to carry out his mission, the moment he was left to his own thoughts in his holding cell, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. When she appeared with one of the Dora guards, he quickly realized why.

She was the woman in the dream he had the night he first heard Bast.

Erik had been tidying up the aftermath of one of his last kills before he had planned to execute Klaue, his key to the Wakandan border. Removal of evidence for him had become so routine that he often let his mind wander from the task at hand while he covered his tracks. What would he eat tonight? Did he remember to unload the dishwasher? He had a girl at home who threatened to leave every time he was out late, a pretty but more importantly, loyal woman named Linda. He smirked at the sheer thought of her leaving – all he had to do was lay some strategic pipe and she’d clean his slate, again and again and again…

_Must you continue to thirst for blood like this?_

Erik turned abruptly to survey his surroundings, only to stare into unperturbed darkness. The fact that the soft whisper seemed to have originated from inside his head rather than outside would have unnerved anyone, but the average person wasn’t neatly folding a full-grown human body into a bag to be dissolved in a barrel of acid. After a short pause to tune his ears into any new sounds, Erik swung his load over his shoulder and continued on his way home, deciding whatever he had heard had just been a figment of imagination.

He slipped quietly into bed only a few hours later besides the girlfriend he would later shoot dead at a moment’s notice, now asleep and unquestioning of his whereabouts. He had by necessity never been a sound sleeper but that night he was overcome by a slumber as deep as the grave.

When he awoke, he was somewhere otherworldly to the say the least. As a man who rarely dreamt, he wondered if this qualified as a phantom trip. He wasn’t much of a stoner, but you couldn’t always trust what was in the weed these days.

Off in the distance, he saw a figure comfortably laid against a tree, sitting cross-legged on the grass, her head immersed in a book. Odd.

Before he could call out to her for a clue to wherever the hell he was, a pressure started to build in his ears, as though he were suddenly twenty thousand feet in the air. Then one bodiless voice, the same as the one he had heard during his waking hours, appeared to split into two, and both assaulted his ears at once. In one ear, the same voice was harsh, grating, furious; the other, smooth and sweet.

_He deserves revenge! He has no obligation for mercy! He carries out my will, I have imbued him with the rage he needs!_

_He needs love! He needs compassion! He facilitates his own destruction, let him seek the healing he deserves!_

_He’s powerful and destructive, Bast!_

_He’s suffering, Sekhmet!_

The voices became progressively louder and unintelligible as they argued, until he was brought to his knees, eyes closed, hands clasped over his ears. Soon, he too was screaming in pain as he felt his eardrums tear. Then as he felt a hand gently press on his shoulder, the voices vanished. He looked up to see you smile wide and reassuringly at him. You introduced yourself with your birth name, and he committed it to memory. Y/N.

 _Let her heal your heart,_ Bast said to him. He had awoken fazed, but the thought of someone trying to change him laughable. You wouldn’t be the first woman who tried.

When you finally presented yourself to the new king as composed yet stone-faced as only a person who had begun to accept tremendous loss could, Erik realized how pretentious his thoughts were. You couldn’t care less about fixing him, you were too preoccupied with ensuring he didn’t break you.

Okoye escorted you by the arm into the room, her hand gripping just a little too tight. She released you, bowed to the abomination now ruling the country, and left the room. You just barely heard her scoff. Before the throne you stood catatonically, eyes lowered to the King’s sandals.

“I heard you were causing some trouble last night.” N’Jadaka smirked, the need to dispel the uncomfortable silence underlying his voice. You refused to look him in the eye, and responded only with silence.

“Sit the fuck down.” he demanded, the trickster cadence to his voice now gone. He wouldn’t tolerate that same level of disrespect you’d shown before a second time. You considered a small act of resistance, but were despondent enough that you lacked the energy to struggle against his will. Before the throne, you noticed a low table set up with two plates and a pair of utensils for both. You knelt obediently on the large pillow closest to your side of the table, and N’Jadaka approached from the throne and sat cross-legged opposite from you.

The moment your eyes met, you visualized yourself plunging the fork at your right-hand side deep into his neck. Maybe if you were lucky, you would be able to get the internal jugular, and watch him bleed out. Yet, you banished the image and kept your expression neutral and effaced. Servants quickly ran in and out setting food and drink between the two of you, and you felt one too many curious glances as they delivered dishes. The palace would soon be teeming with yet more fodder for Okoye’s misplaced suspicions. A temple maid consorting with the new king?

“Eat.” N’Jadaka commanded. You hesitated. The last thing you wanted to do was share a meal with your father’s murderer, but before you could start another internal monologue, he grabbed you abruptly by the chin across the table, dragging you to him. You let out a small gasp of surprise as the cutlery on the table clattered but did not shatter or drop.

“I’m not about to repeat myself.” He barked, face only inches apart from yours, essentially repeating himself. As he let go of your face, settling back into his seat with his arms crossed, the skin of your cheeks stung, but fear never set in. Rather, your stomach growled audibly, and your mind drifted to the red stain you had stared at all night. You quietly stuffed a fried dough beignet in your mouth and chased it with a spoonful of beans. Soon your treacherous hunger intensified, and you ate appetitively. You were surprised you could eat given your whole life had fallen apart – but such was the power of that supernatural calm.

N’Jadaka watched you carefully as you scarfed down the meal as though you had never seen food before, he himself abstaining from the meal. When you finally reached for the pot of coffee in the center of the table, he cleared his throat.

“You ready to talk now?”

You looked up to him, arm extended and cocked your head to the side incredulously.

“What do you expect me to say?” You replied, flatly. _Thanks for feeding me? Thanks for the medical attention? Or the imprisonment, the murder of my father, the overhaul of my country, the list goes on…_

The muscles in N’Jadaka’s neck tensed. He hadn’t expected an answer like that, but he couldn’t deny he set himself up for it. He let out a deep breath, and stretched his bulky arms out across the table. You withdrew again, instinctively, but this time he didn’t reach for you. He rolled his shoulders back again and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. He sighed again deeply.

“You know, you really got a mouth on you. Like damn, do all y’all Wakandan bitches talk like this?” He sounded more annoyed than angry, yet you looked at him warily, and then to the rest of your surroundings. The servants had long since filed out of the room and you realized the two of you were alone. You became both nervous and impatient. Your stomach was full, your heart was empty, you needed out.

“What do you want from me?” You asked, reticently.

In his mind’s eye, Erik recalled how you had suddenly rushed him at Warrior Falls, and as he turned, his short spear had pierced cleanly into you like a knife into butter. He recalled how you clasped your hands around the spear, and staring straight at him, the whites of your eyes had rolled back into your head, lips mouthing words that seemed less like expletives but primordial curses. His body had frozen still as you collapsed once you had exhausted that last burst of strength, disarmed enough that T’Challa had enough time to place him in a headlock. Rather than hearing his cousin telling him to yield, all surrounding sound had faded and all he heard was Bast give him a warning: _Either you spare her, or you doom yourself._

He had thought of disposing of your body the same way he did T’Challa, but as he approached you, the words seared themselves repetitively in his head over and over again. Now you sat before him and Erik truly did not have the slightest idea what to do with you. Yet he was too, dare he say it, _afraid_ to get rid of you.

You were patiently waiting on a response, and the very fact that you expected him to answer to you irked N’Jadaka to no end.

“I’ll ask the questions here, not you. Got that shit?” he said, rising from his seat. As if on cue, the servants rushed back into the room to clear the table.

“Get the fuck out. I’ll summon you again when I feel like it.” He said.

Something compelled you to keep pressing on.

“I understand, and I say this loosely, what your problem was with-“ you watched him tense up again, “the former prince, but what exactly was your vendetta against my father?” You asked insistently, rising to your feet, despite the two Dora who had appeared by your side to escort you away from the King.

The look he gave you was one full of contempt.

“You mean Uncle James?”

_Uncle what?_

N’Jadaka rose to his feet as well, waving his warriors back, and stepped to you again. “You know, that nigga was the last person I was thinking about coming to this place, but the idea of this motherfucker running around having some bitch calling him pops after that shit he pulled.…”

He balled his hands up into fists, but then clasped his hands together, flashing one of his trademark sadistic smiles.

“I don’t want to hear about that nigga again, got it?” He paused to let those words sink in, then continued. “Like for real, if I hear about ‘your father’ again, Imma have you executed. You’ve been getting too many chances from me so far, babygirl.”

This time the mischievous lilt in his voice barely covered the fact that his tone was the most deadly it had been since the first time he spoke to you. He gave you a patronizing pat on the head.

“Now if you calm down and don’t cause any trouble, I’ll find a good use for you.”

And with that, a whole new set of layers were added to your confusion. Little did you know, N’Jadaka was as lost as you were, too.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days were dually disorienting and stabilizing.

N’Jadaka seemed to have relinquished you from your prison suddenly, and you were reposted to your original chambers. The only difference now is you were perpetually flanked with two Dora. You couldn’t tell if it was his doing or Okoye’s, but you quickly grew used to your every move being watched. You still had no idea what threat you could possibly have posed, but you were begrudgingly grateful for any freedom that you may have.

More importantly, you had adapted to eating a meal or two, face to face in a defiant silence, each day for the past week with that monster. Oddly enough, he respected the silence for the most part, only reacting with the cantankerousness of a child if you ate too little or with too little gusto.

“Bitch, if you try that hunger strike bullshit one more time, I might starve the whole damn nation,” he had threatened once, breaking the silence that usually accompanied your shared meals, his voice even-keeled but with the severity befitting a sovereign ruler. You hated that he seemed perfectly adapted to being the head of an authoritarian regime, yet you suddenly found yourself shoveling food into your mouth. You knew he was serious. With a surreptitious glance up from your plate, you could see a smirk flicker across his lips.

On day 8 of post-release, Amina was the one to summon you from your chamber. It was the first time you had seen her since your release, you realized, and when you heard her voice call out from outside your room before entering, you realized you were elated to see her. You missed her.

Part of N’Jadaka’s odd obsession with your movement was insisting that you not leave the palace in any shape or form. You had not even been able to travel to the temple – not that you would have had the courage to anyway given the most recent events.

“Nkiru, you’ve been requested.” Soft footsteps approached the side of your bed. Although it was approximately six in the evening, you had opted to keep your curtains closed in an attempt to quell a growing migraine. You felt her eyes lower onto your body tightly wrapped in a multitude of blankets. She laid a hand on your still body, and you flipped over to face her.

Although the light was dim and your eyes had yet to adjust, Amina’s hazel eyes somehow seemed darker than usual.

“Are you doing okay?” she murmured. Her voice was soft, her usually strong silhouette seeming to shrink.

“I’m… okay.” You responded. You still had not cried a single tear for your father, your childhood friend had disappeared along with her mother and the rightful king was likely long dead without a proper burial. A tyrant was on the throne, unable for whatever reason to eat his meals alone. Rumors in the lower palace swirled that you were his consort and the General saw you as an accomplice and traitor.

But you were fine. Really.

“Are you?” You asked, unraveling yourself from your cloth sanctuary and sitting cross-legged on the bed. You tugged onto Amina’s arm, inviting her to sit with you, but she remained firmly rooted to the ground, the staff in her left hand resembling a cane for support more than a weapon.

She smiled weakly, nodded affirmation, and led you wordlessly to the throne room.

* * *

N’Jadaka always seemed to test out new ways to disrespect Wakandan tradition each moment he was in power. He had so far disregarded any prayer time to Bast, refused to take a single day trip outside of the palace to meet the new populace he was governing as a new king customarily did, actively ignored any requests for town hall meetings, and rushed the council elders who gave their morning state reports, effectively talking over them. It was clear that his goal was for a military state and nothing else. However, what really was grinding on your nerves today was that he was sitting in _T’Challa’s_ throne sideways, legs thrown over one armrest and hands behind his head.

The blatant disrespect made your face grow hot with anger. It didn’t help that he also had the nerve to summon you without food to palliate you. You spoiled easily.

“Ay, babygirl, you made it!” he proclaimed with childlike glee. As usual, you wanted to bash his teeth in, but you grit your teeth into a respectful smile.

“Yes?”

“Yes, _what_?” he snarled, now leaning forward in his chair, fingers curled tightly onto his arm rests.

“Yes, my king.” You all but spat out. He grinned widely and beckoned you to stand closer. As if on cue, the attendants filed out of the room hurriedly, and you, yet again, felt the burn of judgmental eyes boring through your backside.

“I got a job for you, finally.” He shared, brown eyes twinkling in delight. “Build me one of them dope ass suits I saw in lil princess’ lab.”

That was sudden, and you were taken aback by the request. “Me? Of all people?”

“Well, they been telling me that the next best thing to Shuri is you.”

This was both true and false. Although you had taught Shuri at some point, she had long and far surpassed you in intellectual ability. Besides, you were less of a biomechanical engineer and more of a chemist – or alchemist, who could say.

You did not respond, inwardly calculating the risk versus the yield of having time away to tinker in the laboratory, far from the constant surveillance. The sudden agency would allow you some much-needed freedom, but also time to not just think, but work. You had been starved of intellectual stimulation since he had shown up anyway.

It was sufficiently clear that building him a functioning panther suit was an absolute no-no. Regardless of the immense power he now commandeered, without a vibranium-infused suit, he was clearly disadvantaged. It must have been a clear embarrassment for him for this request to have come so much later, given how rapid and meticulous he was about setting his military plans in motion.

Something was odd about this request, however. Shuri had clearly designed more than one suit for her brother in the past year. In fact, her latest one, one that you had teased her relentlessly about due to its gaudy, golden, and more jaguar than panther motif, should still be on display in a corner of the laboratory. Given that Mount Bashenga had been searched from top to bottom after Shuri’s disappearance, it had to have been brought to his attention.

Unless…

Your eyes grew wide with realization but masked it quickly with a low bow.

“I would be honored to.” You said quickly, under your breath. As you looked up, he gave you a quizzical look for a second, then smirked.

“You ain’t as stubborn as usual today. What’d you got planned?” Your heart skipped a beat, but he laughed, and the heavy load in your belly lifted.

“Sike nah. You hungry?”

With a snap of his fingers, the servants came pouring in.

* * *

You walked back to your room belly full, but heart just as full with guilt. However, this time as you walked through the palace corridors, your mind was full too, thoughts racing a mile a minute. For once, you were too distracted to feel bad about being escorted back to your chambers by a Dora whose distaste for you was palpable, second only to the general herself. The same thoughts flitted through your head.

Shuri took the suit with her. Shuri took the suit with her. Shuri took the suit with her.

Shuri has the suit.

Shuri did not run.

She intended to fight.

She intended to fight back with full force.

A week was neither long nor short. She was hatching a plan, and you had to help her. You needed contact with the outside, and buying time while building a useless suit, was the perfect way to figure out how to make that contact, to help her, and to fight back.

Your escort all but shoved you into your room before leaving in a huff, and unbothered, you leapt over to your desk and flipped over the journal you had neglected since the day your father died. A worn, old-fashioned scientific journal, with square-lined paper; it was thick with your ideas, STEM-related or more personal musings, free from access by the pervasive Wakandan cyberspace.

This sudden sense of control over your own fate was exhilarating, and you flipped quickly through the pages to your notes on herb-infused fabric. Oh, you would build this asshole a suit all right.

However, your excitement faded to curiosity as a small piece of paper slipped out and fell to the ground. Its ragged edges suggested that it had been torn off another page in your notebook in a hurry before being scribbled on, folded up and shoved back into your book. Mildly concerned, you opened it up slowly, hoping that it wasn’t what you thought it was.

But it was.

A secret message in Amina’s familiar, yet horrendous, scrawl.

_I’m sorry. I had to run._


	8. Chapter 8

“This has to be some kind of joke,” you whispered aloud weakly, hands shaking.

But just in case it wasn’t, you tore the piece of paper in half, in fourths, in eighths, in sixteenths, tearing and ripping the note into confetti while hot tears began to well into your eyes. Once you had disposed of the evidence, flushing it down the toilet, you slipped out of your room and headed straight to the temple.

* * *

You had thankfully managed to escape detection from any of the palace guards and made it to the temple under cover of the sunset. Although you had wrapped yourself with a shawl, hoping to avoid notice, you had the inkling that you were no longer being surveilled anyway. Pushing through a split second of hesitation, you made your way into the temple, hoping you would run into one person in particular.

Asha.

She sat quietly in a far corner, if you could imagine any corners in the enormous hut’s round architecture, pulverizing a fine red powder reminiscent of the immersion sands on a grinding stone.

“Asha!” you called over to her and as if snapped out of a trance, she looked up to you in shock. Although it was late, you knew she often popped in late at night to prepare salves and poultices for the next morning, being the night owl that she was.

“Nkiru?!” She whispered loudly, looking around frantically to clear the room of any observers. Ignoring her comment, you ran into her arms, almost toppling her petite, plump self over. Patting you on the shoulder, she whispered, “Are you even allowed to be here?””

You pulled back from her and shook your head.

“Nki, I’m not trying to be executed!” she said, pulling you with her behind beaded curtains into the nearest mediation room for privacy. “You’re lucky it’s late and no one’s probably here…”

Now that you had re-steadied yourself, you dropped into a seating position on the dirt floor and Asha sat across from you, giving you a wary look.

“I haven’t seen or heard for you in a week. What’s going on?”

“Amina’s gone,” you said, flatly, and Asha let out an audible gasp.

“There’s no way.”

“She left a note.”

“She would never!” Asha said, jumping to her feet. “She’s way too responsible, and- “

She trailed off as the two of you silently acknowledged that the punishment for a Dora deserting was a fate worse than death.

What you really wanted to know was why. Amina was never a rash decision-maker. She was good at mediating uncomfortable situations and while her principles were strong, she was never ideological. Unlike you, she wouldn’t leave just because she did not agree with whoever was in authority.

“How far do you think she is by now?” Asha inquired in a low voice. Thankfully, the precaution was unnecessary, given that the temple was a technology-free zone, so they were safe to speak freely as long as no actual person was within earshot.

Given that Amina had probably left right after she had been escorting you, and you had been with _him_ for about an hour or so, she was probably just out of the palace.

But your girl could _haul ass_.

“I have no idea,” you responded. You got up to your feet and stepped out of the meditation room, now sufficiently aware of your surroundings for the heavy stench of incense to become nauseating. Asha followed you out, with a heavy sigh.

“Had she been acting strange?” You questioned, following brick steps into the Herb Garden, hoping that the calming, muted glow of the lavender flowers could settle you. Before Asha could answer, you stopped in your tracks. All that stretched before you were the stale smell of charred soil and stone, and gritting your teeth, you stared into the desolate remains of what was once a sacred plant nursery.

 _He did not…_ Kneeling, you dug your hands through a handful of packed, dry earth and let it run through your fingers. It seemed as though life as you knew it would continue to disintegrate around you.

“The new king ordered us to burn everything.” Asha mumbled, apologetically. You nodded your head quietly, staring dejectedly at the packed, dead earth.

“And no, the last time Amina came by… she was worried about you, but there were never any signs…” she continued. You rose again and nodded acquiescently at her.

“I think I should go.”

Asha squeezed your hands and smiled weakly.

Before you made it out the door, she called out to you once more.

“Papa Zuri is resting with his ancestors. We buried him well.”

Back turned to her, you murmured a word of thanks, grateful that your voice was just loud enough to hide the waver in your voice.

* * *

Without Shuri, the laboratory in Mount Bashenga had lost not only the loud gqom music coming from the overhead speakers, but also the hustle, bustle and drive that defined the Wakandan Design Group. After a night of restless sleep, now certain that N’Jadaka had relaxed the security detail he had placed on you, you had retired to Shuri’s old office, taking particular care to avoid any conversation with the other workers. First, you confirmed that the golden necklace had disappeared, and then brought out your journal to start drafting a design.

You flipped the pages to the following report:

> **_EyoKwindla_ ** **_10, Shemu_**
> 
> _(March 10, Harvesting Season)_
> 
> _Data:_
> 
> **Ezi (998 days, M)**
> 
> Vitality improved >> 8.3h spent in enriched environment (+33.8% from 6.2h)
> 
> Wt 23g, Avg HR 543, Avg RR 123, Avg Temp 37.2C
> 
> **Epi (1003 days, F)**
> 
> Vitality improved >> 8.5h spent in enriched environment (+10.3% from 7.7h)
> 
> Wt 18g, Avg HR 483, Avg RR 158, Avg Temp 37.3C
> 
> **Indla (1002 days, F)**
> 
> Vitality improved >> 9.1h spent in enriched environment (+40.0% from 6.5h)
> 
> Wt 18.5g, Avg HR 582, Avg RR 199, Avg Temp 37.2C
> 
> _Conclusions to date:_
> 
> \- Mice appear to have made statistically significant gains in intelligence, with increased occupation of enriched habitat
> 
> \- Mice appear to be recovering functionally from intrauterine growth restriction, cerebral palsy and congenital heart defects
> 
> \- Mice have demonstrated improved longevity, outliving the standard lifespan of 2 years

This journal entry, describing a tiny cohort of three mice, summarized one of your most promising experiments with heart-shaped herb extract. Zuri’s discovery and subsequent destruction of your coveted rodents had spurned your active rejection of your country’s cultural values.

While Wakanda was incomparably medically superior to the rest of the world, its warrior-centric culture favored the naturally strong and those born gifted, leaving those who had been born with congenital defects, absence of organs, or susceptibility to progressive disability to either facilitate their lives with technology (if they could afford it) or perish. All medicine centered on response to trauma or illness. To make matters worse, a cultural taboo against prosthetics and organ implants or otherwise stagnated its society, producing health inequity often hidden to the palace dwellers and other elites.

This unfairness could have easily been solved by greater access to extract from the heart-shaped herb, and your small cohort proved it!

It didn’t matter anyway. The garden was gone, and so was that plan. You began to draw.

Gaze focused on the white canvas, a flash of white light blinded you as though the room’s overhead illuminators had silently shorted and shattered. An all-encompassing, enveloping darkness filled your vision, but rather than a feeling of dread, you felt lightweight, even airy.

Almost as suddenly as you had fallen into the sensation, you came out of it. You awoke, listless, drawing air into your lungs rapidly and desperately, as though you had just emerged from water. You had gripped your pen so tightly that it had shattered, and blotches of dark ink now decorated your palms and had dropped onto your canvas.

_Did I just seize?_

Now before you, lay a sketch of two jungle cats locked in fierce battle, one black as night and the other spotted and golden. While the dark animal seemed to have the advantage, teeth sinking into its opponent’s neck, the fierceness in the other cat’s snarl suggested that it was far from down for the count. In the backdrop, humans dressed in what appeared like ancient garments with primitive weapons appear to also be engaging in battle.

In the center, a small cat watched from the distance, piercing violet eyes appearing to gaze directly in your soul. For a split second, you were disconcerted.

But then an uncharacteristic fury began to fill your soul, and in a flurry of rage, you began to throw everything you could find. Books, beakers, pens, tools, anything within reach. Once you had tired yourself out, you slumped to the floor, crying profusely.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

You had no idea what Bast wanted from you, but now she was playing tricks on you.

Or you were losing your mind, and this was your descent into madness. After all, somehow you had blacked out and drawn something far outside of your natural artistic ability with pops of vibrant color despite only having a black ink pen. 

It had to be the latter. You wanted to be committed and have it over with. Refusing to take the time to decipher your artwork, you curled up in fetal position and wept.

It was in this dramatic scene of disorder and depression that N’Jadaka barged into your office with two guards in tow.

“The fuck going on with you?” His voice abrasive as usual, you watched him look about the room with an expression in between disgust and genuine confusion. Wide-stanced with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, it was clear that he was more annoyed by you than concerned. Of course, you didn’t answer him. At this point, any violence he exacted against you would feel like mercy compared to the anguish you were feeling at this point.

“You ain’t heard what I just said?”

You continued to stare at the floor.

Irritated, he yanked you roughly by the arm to your feet, keeping his grip on your forearm tight enough that you winced in pain but did not cry out. His two guards, visibly tense, cleared the way for him to drag you out.

“Clean that shit up.” He ordered, without looking back, as the doors slid shut behind the two of you.

* * *

N’Jadaka was either a terribly fast walker or was prepared to do something drastic. Although your long legs afforded you a pretty long stride, you really were struggling to keep up, giving the effect of resisting when you truly were not. A few times, you stumbled, tripping over your own feet, and he didn’t bother to slow down, towing you along like a child’s rag doll. A few times, you were sure he would pull your arm right out of its socket, if not tear your rotator cuff. Yet, you wouldn’t give the satisfaction of kicking or screaming through the palace like some trapped animal.

So you decided to bear it.

A few minutes into your unwilling trek, his hold on you had gradually loosened and his pace slowed enough that you could now walk upright at a normal pace, even though he never let go of your arm. A few steps behind him, you could only see the back of his head, as he never once turned to look at you and never spoke a word. Yet somehow, you got the sense that he wasn’t actually angry.

You had the fleeting thought that for a murderer, his hands were remarkably warm and soft.

Finally, you stopped at a secured entrance. Your eyes widened as you realized where you were.

These were the King’s own chambers.

Your feet froze in place, and in response, N’Jadaka pressed his hand against your back, and pushed you into the room wordlessly. Your heart began to pound in your chest, and the energy was slowly starting to drain out of your legs. The doors slid shut with a soft thud, and your stomach did a backflip in time with the sound.

You had said you didn’t care what he did to you, but this was different!

N’Jadaka moved past you and while walking towards a heavily adorned California king-sized bed, began to disrobe.

You started to hyperventilate.

The scars along his back seemed every bit as alive as he was, his broad, bare back expanding and contracting with every slow, deep breath. He tilted his head back, staring at the high ceiling for a moment, before he turned around to sit on the edge of his bed. He kicked the sandals off his feet and leaned back onto the bed onto his forearms. The light streaming in from his drawn curtains gave his brown eyes an amber glow, and again, you recalled the beautiful figure in that one seminal vision. He looked at you, but he was neither smirking, nor angry – just expressionless.

Somehow on him that look was terrifying.

He motioned for you to move closer, but you couldn’t move from that spot, paralyzed in fear.

Exasperated, he sat up and rested his elbows onto his knees.

“You making me a suit, right?” he asked with a tired sigh. “You gonna take these measurements or what?”


	9. Chapter 9

Erik was never normally chatty, but even he had to admit that he was slightly unnerved by the oppressive silence shrouding him and the young woman gently unraveling a measuring cord along the length of his shoulders.

For someone in his particular line of work, quiet was a gift and solitude was both blessed and requisite. Erik rarely craved company, save for those few nights where yearnings of the flesh threatened his mental clarity. He only partook in conversation where he commanded the dialogue - words were weapons, after all. His entire life had been derailed over an exchange of words.

However, at this very moment, the new king wanted nothing more than for this woman to say a word to him.

His auditory senses heightened, he took note of her steady, shallow exhales. She was clearly still afraid of him, even if she tried to feign otherwise. He could practically feel her heart pounding in her chest, thumping so hard he could feel the pulse ever so faintly in her fingertips.

The skin of her hands was surprisingly rougher than he expected, sparking a curiosity as to how hard she worked. She wasn’t exactly a servant, after all. In fact, he wasn’t exactly clear what a temple priestess did apart from pray all the time.

 _Fast?_ That ass was entirely too fat for regular fasting.

 _Burn incense?_ Now that she was only inches apart from him, an ever-so-slight scent of sandalwood and serenity wafted from her skin. Perhaps.

 _Tend the garden?_ Well… not anymore.

Then he recalled that she was also a scientist – an engineer, not unlike him. She surely had the stubbornness befitting one.

Stubborn and strange. She revealed a confusing mixture of obvious fear and complete disregard for him as an authority. Had he broken her enough to affect her sense of self-preservation? Was she just stupid? Or was it something else entirely?

His mind flashed back to her assault at Warrior Falls. Those eyes…

“P-please stand up. I would like to measure your waist,” you spoke up, softly.

Erik’s mind rarely wandered, and the fact that it had done so regarding you alarmed him. He rose to his feet without a word, locking eyes with you in a dominating gaze.

You were relatively tall for a woman, but he was taller. Refusing to look into his eyes, you coiled the cord around his waist, your face growing warm as you accidentally grazed his abdomen with your fingertips. You internally berated yourself for blushing like some idiot schoolgirl. You hoped you would never be this close again, unless it were to slash through his internal organs.

“Nkiru.” You didn’t like the way your name sounded in his voice.

Your stomach lurched as you let the flimsy tool fall from around his waist to the ground. What had you done now?

“You a witch or something?”

Bewildered, you took a couple of automatic steps back and studied his expression. You were shocked to see that there was no flicker of that rude smirk, no sign of jest. He was completely and utterly serious.

“Excuse me?” You bent down to pick the measuring cord off the ground to guard your facial expression, but he continued his line of questioning.

“Can you see things? Like a medium or something?”

What kind of nonsense…

“No,” you said, curtly. “Could you hold out your right arm, please?” You muttered, hoping he wouldn’t press the conversation further.

Instead, he ripped the instrument out of your hands, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it behind him.

“You and I know damn well you don’t need to be measuring shit.”

He was right. This was a complete farce given that Shuri’s suit technology molded to its wearer. Somehow it angered you that he had humored you humoring him.

You clasped your hands in front of you to prevent from balling them into fists, indignation rising within.

“What can I do for you then… my King?” You seethed through a fabricated smile.

“Answer the damn question.” He replied, now reclining into his bed once more in his signature power pose, legs crossed. The definition of arrogance.

“I already said no.”

“No spirits?”

You opened your mouth to say no, but before the denial could escape your lips, you were overcome with the sensation of a ten-pound weight being dropped inside your throat. Rapidly running out of air, you collapsed to your knees, clawing at your throat in a wild panic.

_TELL THE TRUTH!_

Almost immediately you were drenched in a cold sweat, your gaze frenzied. This astringent, booming voice now searing through your head wasn’t Bast!

And how would you speak when you couldn’t breathe?

N’Jadaka was now crouched before you, his eyes unable to conceal the slightest bit of concern – or rather, confusion. Was he causing this? You couldn’t tell, but you were certain if this persisted for the next twenty seconds you would asphyxiate.

_Speak or perish._

“Y-YES!!” you sputtered, eyes warm with tears. You heaved dryly, doubling over so carelessly you slammed into N’Jadaka’s hard chest. Somehow, he didn’t topple over.

“I-I don’t see them! But I…” you let out an involuntary hiccup, your diaphragm getting re-accustomed to air. “S-She or they?! … I hear Bast! And these strange things keep happening and - “ You gasped for air forcefully, your forehead still pressed into his torso.

“A-and… and it’s all surrounding you! You evil bastard, you started this nonsense and-“ You continued to blubber incomprehensibly.

N’Jadaka remained as still as a statue. Your sobs filled the air for a few more moments, your body pressed into his, and you soon remembered where you were and sobered up.

You leaned back onto your heels, wiping away your tears and rubbing your neck. A small portion of the lush burgundy carpet before N’Jadaka was now wet with your tears. His gaze was penetrating, and you felt almost naked, your sense of vulnerability was so great.

“Will that happen again?” he said, gravely.

You shook your head no.

“Good. I don’t wanna see no more of that crying shit.” He sighed and got to his feet again, and to both your surprise and embarrassment extended a hand to you.

You didn’t take it.

His nostrils flared, but he instead sat down cross-legged on the carpet in front of you.

“What has Bast said about me?”

 _This man could be a great leader, but his heart is filled with hatred and contempt._ That was what she had said. You were afraid to lie again, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a compliment.

“She said you had a heart filled with hatred and contempt.”

N’Jadaka flinched almost imperceptibly, as if he had been physically attacked. Then he smirked.

“If you knew where I’ve been, you’d know why.” He said.

There was never an excuse for being such a murderous, pompous bastard, you thought. What could possibly explain the monster he had become?

You shook your head. He smiled again, his grin this time tainted with a hint of sadness.

“Let me tell you a story about a kid who grew up in Oakland.”


	10. Chapter 10

Did you really want to hear this tyrant’s sob story?

It didn’t matter how you answered that question – there was an absolute need to hear him that sprang from somewhere deep within. In mere moments, you were consumed wholly by the hellish childhood that unfolded unsteadily before you. Erik – his American name was Erik Stevens – spoke clumsily and nonlinearly, sorting through the events of his life as though they were an endless tangled mess of cables.

It was an unnatural retelling of his life up to this point in time. When he had first started speaking, his tone was as flippant as usual as he described growing up as a child like any other believing in “fairy tales” of a fantastical land, Wakanda, imparted to him by his father. He paused suddenly and briefly, undoubtedly wondering if it was worth divulging this much personal information, but then something else seemed to seize control of his voice. He opened his mouth and words now seemed to tumble out, shakily, far from his own volition. His tone grew from confused to angry and finally evolved into a calmness that sharply contrasted the fiery confidence he always exuded.

What was even more unnatural was that some of the words N’Jadaka spoke would trigger memories in you that were not your own. Through his eyes, you saw his father in health, trying to instill a sense of self-confidence and pride in his son, teaching him where he came from. Through his eyes, you saw his father slain, and you knelt over a lifeless figure many times larger than the then-preadolescent N’Jadaka. The blood splattered in and around the deep claw wounds in his chest had already begun to dry or congeal, betraying the many hours he had lain there, all alone in the center of a small, dimly lit apartment. Vibranium claws glistened, protruding from his chest.

What kind of evil person leaves a child to bury his father and fend for himself?

Through young Erik’s person, a hastily packed suitcase slung over his shoulders, you knocked and knocked on a familiar apartment door only to find that ‘Uncle James’ who lived down the street seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Little did young Erik know that ‘Uncle James’ had long returned to Wakanda, and taken charge of another child, yourself, as though he had not abandoned another in dire need.

You watched him navigate the horrors of the foster care system, a preteen committing his first homicide while defending himself from a sexual predator who also was deemed the man of the house. As he progressed through adolescence, you felt the silent, caustic rage that emerged from his constant abandonment and disregard.

He graduated from university with honors despite growing up disenfranchised. He joined the military immediately. He flew through the ranks. He murdered, lied, stole, cheated and manipulated others his entire adult life. He threw out any hope of a normal life for the sake of wrath. He worked with international criminals, including one well-known to Wakanda, Ulysses Klaue, in order to get access to what he needed. Revenge.

You saw him keep score on his body, life after life after life.

You had seen enough. You shook your head as though to rid yourself of any further images. Had you been in a trance? At some point, your fingers had curled gently around his wrist. Withdrawing your hand rapidly, you stood up shakily, head still spinning.

N’Jadaka stared at you incredulously.

“You didn’t just hear what I said. You saw it.” He said this in a low whisper. His statement didn’t quite sound accusatory.

You didn’t respond, but your eyes began to glisten. It was enough for him to know for sure.

“Shit!” This time he bellowed, and you reflexively covered your ears, cowering as he seemed to fly towards you in a flurry of anger. For a split second, you wondered if you would become another raised mark on his skin.

“You fucking-!“ You closed your eyes, waiting for the blow. When it never came, you opened them to see him towering over you, hands clenched into fists. He glowered at you with eyes now tinged blood-red, his face hot; he seemed to literally be giving off steam and you could almost feel it off his skin, he was so far into your personal space.

“That shit was private. Don’t you _ever_ fucking do whatever you just did again.” He spat, his face merely millimeters from yours. His intimidating glare lingered just a few seconds before he turned his back on you.

“Get the fuck out.” He said, without looking back. You recognized that this was a small act of mercy. If he had to take another look at you, he would change his mind and snap you like a twig. On that note, you took no time to gather yourself and skittered over to the door. You had entirely too much information to mull over the rest of the day.

But before you left him to his own, you stopped at the doorway. For the first time since he had arrived, you had garnered a tiny kernel of sympathy for him. Mustering the courage to speak, you faced his direction one more time.

“They were wrong to do that to you.” You croaked softly. You watched the muscles of his back tense up in response, but he did not respond. Your words hanging in the air just a little longer, you promptly turned and left.

 _He was and is still wrong to be who he is now, but they were wrong too,_ you thought, letting the door slam shut behind you.

* * *

It was not as though you hadn’t expected N’Jadaka to be above holding grudges – this was a man who was harboring anger against an entire country, after all - but _this_ was excessive.

“So you really will not let me leave this room?”

The Dora standing in front of your doorway, facing outward, turned her neck to you and shook her head. She was clearly enjoying this, as indicated by the mischievous smirk that crossed her face.

Your stomach growled audibly, and you let out a defeated sigh. You had been confined to this room from the moment you woke up this morning at sunrise, and it was now approaching mid-afternoon. The guard turned on her heels suddenly as you attempted to close your door, almost startling you. She was at least 6 and a half feet tall and had to almost bend over to whisper to you.

“What did you say to him anyway? We’re all wondering.”

“Nothing.” Of course you lied. However, you weren’t sure if it was for your sake or for his.

She scrunched up her inappropriately cherub-like face in disappointment.

“That’s no fun,” she grumbled, crossing her arms as she returned to her post. You narrowed your eyes slightly in irritation, but quickly forgave her. Her earnestness could be useful. There was something about the softness of her voice that earned some trust. You decided not to lose this opportunity to ask about Amina. To your dismay, she frowned and kept mum, turning away from you.

You decided not to press - at least for now.

Instead, you retired back to your desk. Just from her facial expressions, you had gleaned enough important information. They _had_ been alerted to her disappearance, but she did not appear to have been captured… yet.

Sitting at your desk, you used an AV Bead from your Kimoyo bracelet to access the internet. Through the grapevine, you had heard rumors that N’Jadaka was preparing to impose some censors to the network in a couple of weeks to limit the possibility of insurgency. Prideful as he was, he was tremendously aware that in the hearts of his citizens, he was only secondary to his much-preferred cousin and decided to block any discussion on the latter through the networks.

Today, you were shocked to see a trending, flashing headline that suggested the deployment of vibranium weapons to the Western world was happening in just a few hours.

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

Accessing the link brought you to a giant countdown timer with mixed commentary on the subject:

_\- how can this man just appear like this and make us meddle in things that have never concerned us?_

_\- Finally someone understands that if we do not show ourselves to the world, they will feel like they have discovered us_

_\- this man is very unstable. idiot ilali!!_

_\- ^^ Tchaiii, my friend. Have you not heard that he has his people patrolling day and night? I beg, if you want to survive until sunrise please hold your fingers._

All of a sudden, you heard a muffled cry and a loud thud outside your door. Startled, you immediately went offline, almost dropping your beads. You faced the door with wide eyes. That had sounded too much like incapacitation.

Outside the door was a familiar voice.

“Nki, it’s me!”

It couldn’t be.

You ran out the door, crashing into Shuri, and the two of you both laughed and cried. Amina stood beside the two of you, the unfortunate young lady who guarded your door now slung over her shoulders, entirely unconscious.

Before you could ask any questions, Shuri thrust a Kimoyo card into your hands.

“My brother is alive and we’re about to bring this entire mess down. Please take this to my lab. If you see a mediocre-looking American, he knows the rest of the plan.”

Confused and overwhelmed with joy, all you could do was laugh.

“I’m serious, just make sure he stays out of trouble,” she insisted, already jogging away backwards. “I have to go!”

You nodded as she ran off, and then looked over to Amina, who thankfully looked well albeit a little tired.

She gave a small smile back at you, adjusting the human weight on her shoulders. Through her eyes, she gave you a promise to return and explain.

“Be careful,” she warned, motherly as always. Then she ran off as well.


	11. Chapter 11

_A mediocre-looking American, a mediocre-looking American…_ You chanted over and over to yourself as you ran.

Normally you would berate Shuri for the language, but you could not help the smile spreading your lips as you ran through the fastest course to Mount Bashenga.

Shuri was back, and almost as importantly, T’Challa was alive! You had seen him die… had you seen him die? Despite having occurred only days ago, those events were now a blur. Thankfully so.

You ran and ran, the vacancy through the palace revealing the intensity of the fray on the outside. As you leapt over and side-stepped several slumped bodies, your heart began to race.

This was it. This was the end of this monster’s reign. It would all be over, and he would be gone. Forever.

Once you boarded the restricted two-person underground shuttle from the palace to the laboratory, you let out a sigh of relief. The moment you reached the Wakandan Design Group hub, your target was in view.

Shuri’s description hadn’t been too far off – a middle-aged white man of average stature stood pacing back and forth at the center of the room, muttering frantically to himself. So preoccupied he was that he didn’t notice you approach him cautiously until you lightly tapped his shoulder and reflexively, narrowly dodged a frantic right swing.

“Who the hell are you?!” He demanded to know, fists raised now in an unsteady defensive stance. Rather than respond, you turned to a glass workstation and laid the card you had been given against its surface. It lit up and revealed a control panel.

“Shuri sent me.” You motioned him over to your side and pointed to a hologram of an American jet’s cockpit controls, now projecting from the card. “It looks like she needed you to fly this plane, right?”

He nodded, his lips slightly parted in a mixture of apprehension and confusion.

“Y-yeah, that is correct but-”

“What are you waiting for? I don’t know how to fly planes!” You cut him off, in no mood to assuage his anxiety. The curtness in your voice seemed to spring him back into action.

While the hapless foreigner activated the remote piloting system and listened for Shuri’s further instructions, you used the card’s settings to seize control of one of Wakanda’s aerial satellites. You were hoping to get a good survey of the land and determine exactly what was going on outside the deserted palace.

Just like your vision had prophesized, you saw your people strewn across the land locked in physical struggle. For as long as you had lived, you had never seen a mere riot, much less a battle of this magnitude.

“What exactly is going on?!” You demanded to know from your new comrade-in-arms, while taking note of the exact number of ships that had been deployed, likely taking weapons overseas. Still focused on the simulated battle before him, he tried his best to fill you in.

“It seems that your new king is one of our folks, an American on our wanted list.”

It’s not that this was something you hadn’t exactly pieced together, but the statement made your quick vision of N’Jadaka’s past feel all the more real.

“Now, we just have to stop these weapons from leaving your country, and then… I don’t really know what happens from th-“

His speech was again cut off by the sudden impact of a barrage of blasts aimed at one of the immense reinforced glass windows to your opposite side.

_Shit…_

“I’ll try to see if we can beef up our security!” you reassured, hoping he would stay focused on his more important task. Unfortunately, this statement was a bluff given that you were minimally tech savvy, at least by Wakandan standards. Regardless, you assumed you were smart enough to have at least an idea of how Shuri would set her controls.

Floundering through her presets to figure out how to strengthen the glass, you kept an eye on the video feed of the battle. Eventually, N’Jadaka came into view, clad in a golden version of the panther suit, just at the moment he was tackled into the vibranium mine. It was so fast, you nearly missed it, but you knew the dark figure had to be T’Challa in the original panther suit. Shuri was bent over the end of the huge opening and appeared to be screaming. Screaming… but safe.

Despite reinforcing the vibranium signal on the building, you could hear the cracks in the walls begin to spread and the glass shatter and break under the impact.

 _Glass integrity at 15%,_ the overhead system warned.

“We have to consider getting out of here soon!” You alerted the trained pilot. In the meantime, you were hastily trying and failing desperately to locate a failsafe that would automatically shut down all aerial vehicles. You were sure Shuri would have programmed something of the sort if she had had the foresight to.

Then again, Wakanda was the safest place on Earth, was it not? Who could have expected their aircrafts to be turned against the people?

“How many do you still have to stop?!” You asked.

“Just.. this!” A loud crash ensued and the simulation abruptly disintegrated, leaving the man in a hard drop on his bottom. While you looked at him in surprised horror, he jumped to his feet with the excitement of a teenager having reached a new video game’s high score.

“Yes!! We did it!” he yelled.

You blinked once to process then snapped back into action. “Okay, great! Let’s move!” You announced, quickly slipping the keycard back into your pocket. This place was no longer safe for the two of you.

“Follow me.”

The two of you deserted the workspace in relative silence, considering the laboratory was under attack, for the next few minutes. The quiet may have been a tad uncomfortable for your new companion, because he soon broke the silence.

“You can call me Ross. Agent Ross.” The American stretched out his arm for a handshake but you were too heavily preoccupied with worry over the possible outcome of a rematch between T’Challa and N’Jadaka to acknowledge him.

“I think there are hoverbikes we can use to make our way out of the building faster.” You responded, disregarding his self-introduction as you lead him down to the section of the edifice designed for evacuation in emergencies precisely like this one.

Agent Ross let out a small snort of disbelief while you rummaged through a password-protected safe and handed him the key to a bike.

“Hoverbikes… really?” you heard him murmur under his breath.

“We’re going to use these to leave through the exit I am about to open up.” With that, you slammed a large red button mounted beside the entrance with the side of your fist and a wall at the other end of the chamber fell away, leading to the open air of the vast mine. The pathway looked almost like a runway into the void with how dark the outside environment was, illuminated only by the glowing flecks of raw vibranium metal.

Ross gave you an incredulous look.

“There are clear arrows for this path that we’re going to follow if we want to make it out of this mine the fastest way. They’ll show up on the dashboard of the bike,” you reassured.

You hopped on a hoverbike of your own.

“Or you could just follow me,” you added. In mere moments, you sped off and after a few seconds of familiarizing himself with the equipment, he followed suit.

* * *

_Will you let this end this way?_

As you and Ross rode, just minutes out from the fray, a lump began to form in your throat at the sweet, sultry voice in your ears for the umpteenth time.

 _Is she fucking serious?_ You couldn’t help but think to yourself. But you knew, deep down, you needed to know where they were, where _he_ was.

Would T’Challa end his life this time? Could T’Challa end his life this time? _Should_ T’Challa end his life this time?

Bast had already given you the answer to the last one. But the first two were up to T’Challa. And somehow up to you.

You pulled out Shuri’s master card once again and attached it to the dashboard of your hoverbike. You already knew the two of them were somewhere in the mines. Using the card to sweep the area around you for body heat signatures would tell you exactly where you could locate them. You came up with nothing and realized you would have to go searching.

“Ross!” You slowed down just enough to meet him side by side.

His excited grin sublimed into an inquisitive look, perhaps in response to the wistfulness plastered all over your face.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m going to part with you here but keep following the dashboard. You’ll make it to the rest in no time!”

“And where exactly are you going in the middle of a conflict?”

You swallowed hard. Interfering, yet again, would cause you more problems than not in the long run. You were well aware of this. On the other hand, you already knew the goddess would not let you continue to exist if you decided to stay out of it.

“I have to check on something.” You responded. It wasn’t a lie. “Get back safely!” You said, as you sped off full throttle in the opposite direction.

* * *

By the time you reached them, it appeared that T’Challa had already won. Yet N’Jadaka appeared to be very much alive, despite being obviously injured. T’Challa supported N’Jadaka’s weight as they rose together on a levitating platform, and you, very many feet away, watched them from afar.

The two men clad in these parallel suits, with opposing upbringings and clashing ideologies, for the first time appeared to look like family. It was a mellowing sight. Wondering where T’Challa was taking him, you followed at a distance far enough to allow them privacy.

You found yourself at a cavernous opening to the mountain, looking towards the horizon, where the sun’s rays gleamed over the untamed brush’s treetops. T’Challa lowered his cousin to the ground slowly and the latter supported himself on his knees, basking in the warm pink, orange and yellow hues of the sunset.

You dropped to your feet and muted the slow hum to your hoverboard to remain undetected, contemplating this strange development.

Had N’Jadaka had asked to see the sunset?

_What could they possibly be saying?_

You remained too far to hear them speak but weighed the risks of getting caught eavesdropping on the royal family to satisfying your own curiosity. It was not worth it. You knew boundaries all too well.

Backing away slowly now instead, your heartbeat began to slow, your anxiety finally dissipating. T’Challa was in control here, and N’Jadaka was still alive. Whatever Bast wanted with N’Jadaka, there would be another day to contemplate. Thankfully, things would be back to normal.

It was a good time for you to leave. Before you could turn around to leave, N’Jadaka’s voice, weak and wavering, seemed to echo into the cavern.

_Just bury me in the ocean, with my ancestors that jumped from ships. ‘Cause they knew death was better than bondage._

“Nkiru, get over here!” T’Challa’s voice, stronger and clearer, boomed louder than you had ever heard in your entire life. Your heart almost stopped.

“I know that you’re listening! This is an order!”

Had you forgotten about superhuman hearing as a side effect of the Heart-Shaped Herb?

N’Jadaka was collapsed, supine and pale, with a wound on the same location you had seen his father’s decades before. In a blink of an eye, T’Challa had brought you over to where they had been talking. A little disoriented from the rapid acceleration and deceleration, you knelt over N’Jadaka’s side and looked nervously at T’Challa.

You knew from his facial expression that he wanted you to save him. But was he sure?

It didn’t matter. You placed a hand lightly on his wrist to sense a fading pulse and quickly forced your hand into his wound to re-tamponade it. If you had carried a healing bead, you could have just slipped one into the injury but as luck would have it, your bracelet had slipped off your arm at some point.

T’Challa did not need further instructions. You straddled N’Jadaka, keeping your hand firm in the injury to decrease bloodflow and somehow balanced on his body while T’Challa lifted both of you

N’Jadaka, Erik Stevens, would be spared.


	12. Chapter 12

Bast truly had a riotous sense of humor.

Who could have foreseen that you would end up in the exact same operating room you had been revived in, attempting to save the life of a man who had nearly murdered you? Your eyes followed the same distraught physician who had taken care of you scurry around to gather surgical supplies, desperate to keep her license. You probably would have laughed had the situation not been so dire.

With the pressure of your closed fist inside his chest being the difference between his life and bloody exsanguination, N’Jadaka seemed almost harmless. Your arms and knees were almost numb from how long you had held position, straddling the estranged prince. You mustered all your strength and willpower to keep your right arm as straight as possible. You could feel the transmitted vibrations of his weakly pulsating heart… his heart? How human he had become now, how vulnerable he now was, as are the rest of us.

Engrossed in your thoughts, you missed the surgeon alerting you that she was finally ready to begin the procedure. T’Challa placed a hand on your shoulder softly but firmly.

“That’s enough. You can come down now,” he instructed, his tone impassive. You obliged, your gaze still focused on Erik, and dismounted the table. The doctor took a curiously long look at you as you hesitantly stepped away, then she hurriedly got to work.

* * *

How quickly we forget.

N’Jadaka killed your father, but somehow you had some pity for him.

How quickly we forgive.

N’Jadaka had overthrown T’Challa’s reign, but T’Challa had chosen to absolve him of his sin of treason.

Or had he? You could not totally be sure what his plans were. All you knew was that there seemed to be a gag rule in the palace about the prince. Not a word had been spoken about the battle or its aftermath. In fact, to your amazement, things seemed to have fallen back into place almost instantly once T’Challa officially announced his return, never mind that this was the first civil war on Wakandan soil in centuries. N’Jadaka’s reign had been subversive but brief, and a collective sigh of relief befell the land as the rightful heir was reinstated.

A week had passed painstakingly slowly. Spirit unsettled, it had become difficult to concentrate on your bioengineering work. To quell this unease, you had begun to make rounds at the Mujaji orchards to pick fruit much like Zuri had the habit of doing before. However, this time the fruit would go not to the children who visited the temple, but instead to the homes of the warriors who had been killed in battle. No matter how much the monarchy wanted to suppress the reality of the mutiny, it had happened, and real people had died.

It was while you were on such a mission, humming softly as you picked fruit, that you heard T’Challa call your name.

Surprised, you turned slowly and bowed low in greeting. It was the first time you had spoken since that day. Usually T’Challa would have a playful smirk for you, with gentle eyes unlike N’Jadaka’s cocksure ones, but this time he was accompanied by Okoye whose disdain for you was palpable.

You didn’t blame her for being bitter. She was newly single, given that her husband had not needed much convincing to side with an intruder. Unfortunately, W’Kabi did not have the protection of being blood-related to the king, and now was rumored to have been exiled even further beyond the borderlands.

“What brings you here, Nkiru?” T’Challa asked. You held out one of your baskets to him with a soft smile.

“I was just filling baskets for the temple… Like Baba used to.” A half-truth.

He wore the slightest of frowns in response, which made you mildly anxious.

“Good.” He affirmed to your relief. Okoye scoffed, the slightest of sounds, and T’Challa gave her a nod. She nodded back and turned to exit, leaving the two of you in the garden.

He knelt down to pick up a mango from the full basket at your feet, tossing it up and down in his left hand as he stood before you. While he meant to appear entirely harmless, you could feel your whole body tense up. T’Challa seemed to measure his words before he spoke. Whatever he had to say would not be good.

“May I ask you a question, about N’Jadaka… my cousin?”

You nodded, your eyes following the fruit he played with as it rose and fell. Your heart began to beat fast. The word cousin came out clumsily in his mouth as if he was still getting used to the concept of having a cousin – or rather, having this person in particular as a cousin.

“What is the nature of your relationship?” You now looked at T’Challa in confusion.

“Relationship?” You repeated in shock, then irritation. You had thought T’Challa, someone you had grown up with, would be above listening to ridiculous gossip.

T’Challa now gripped the mango firmly in his hand, looking at you straight in the eyes. Almost as if to warn you that he could detect any lie, no matter how small.

“There have been some reports that suggest something of the sort.”

You wanted to remain respectful, but indignation surfaced instead.

“Reports?” You repeated again, this time with an edge to your voice. He sensed this and once again wore that controlled regal look of disapproval, waiting patiently for you to speak.

You had nothing to say. You expected better from someone like him.

Instead of dignifying him with an answer, you picked up the basket on the ground, hoisting it on your hip. A hand outstretched, you silently requested for him to return his newfound toy. He did not oblige, which made you angrier.

“With all due respect, it is distasteful to implicate me in any sort of liaison with my father’s murderer,” you seethed. At that, T’Challa’s expression softened, if only for a moment, but you would not let him off the hook.

“I cannot help the fact that people around the palace see things where there are none. It also does not help that your cousin found some particular interest in tormenting me further. Please do not do the same.”

With that, you bowed once again to exit, but his hand on your wrist stopped you. You whipped around with the fiercest look possible, but T’Challa’s was fiercer.

“Nkiru, he has asked to see you every day since he’s been in isolation.”

You feel a heavy thump on your chest.

“Every morning for seven days, he says nothing else to any of his attending guards, aside requesting to see you. He even addresses you by name.” He clarified further. That was damning, alright.

“I don’t understand.” You said, your voice now small. T’Challa raised an eyebrow.

“I decided to speak to you in private, particularly because I did not want to cause a scene. However, rest assured that I will get to the bottom of this.” His gaze was hard and fixed, and with his emphasis on the word ‘will’, you effectively lost all your bark.

“If you would like to leave, now, you are dismissed.” He directed, his hands clasped behind him. You turned, wordlessly, feeling the heaviness of his gaze on your back as you walked away.

* * *

Shuri, your brother suspects me of some… misconduct. I need to get to the bottom of this. This really is the best way to do it.

??? I don’t exactly see how this will make him less suspicious, but I guess I can help! LOL

Shuri and her Americanisms, you thought as you closed the text message. Shuri was kind enough to modify your communicator to securely and most importantly, covertly, to broadcast into N’Jadaka’s cell. As she said, if caught, this would be a lot more condemning than anything. However, you were curious as to what N’Jadaka so desperately needed to say. You acknowledged that you were connected somehow, by something. You had known each other before knowing each other.

You checked the time. It was the early hours of the morning, where the guards would be at their most relaxed state in terms of surveillance. Either way, Shuri had remotely soundproofed N’Jadaka’s cell so no one would hear the two of you speaking. You had told her it was fine if she listened in herself, but she seemed disinterested.

She truly trusted you wholeheartedly and you were grateful for that.

He probably just has some creepy crush on you. I heard about the lunches, you know. What a weirdo…

You didn’t have a good response to that statement at the time. The very thought was repulsive… mostly.

You glanced at the clock again. It was time.

You checked one more time to assure that your quarters were locked and soundproofed, then sat back down on your bed, cross-legged. In all fairness, you were unsure what to expect. Nevertheless, you started the communication.

A full minute passed where all you could hear were the soft sounds of his breathing. Not exactly sleeping, but not exactly active.

“Hello?” you attempted.

A soft rustling of clothing filled the air, the sound of someone moving around to a sitting position. Another minute passed. You were already losing faith in this operation.

“I heard you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah?” Dispassionate was the tone he aimed for, but it held a hint of pleasure. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?” You could practically see the smirk.

You grimaced. “Say what you needed to say.”

“You’re gonna have to come down in person for that, babygirl.”

Typical.

“I’m serious,” he said, filling the silence. The jest had truly left his voice.

“In that case you’ll forever hold your peace.” You responded. N’Jadaka paused for a second, then must have decided it was not worth the silence.

“Since y’all are probably planning to kill me soon, I thought I could make a few confessions to you. Since you saw things.”

You didn’t respond, so he continued.

“Not like excuses or none of that. Just, I wanted someone to talk to. I’ve never had anyone I could just talk to… You know, with the tragic backstory and all… With you, there’s none of that explanation I gotta give.”

That confession hung in the air for a few seconds like a thick fog. You readjusted yourself in your bed, pulling your sheet covers onto your lap. He let out a sigh.

“You still listening?”

“Yes.”

* * *

You must have dozed off at some point as he was speaking, because you awoke groggily to find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. A soft breeze whistled through the grass in the savannah that now stretched before you. You sat up, back pressed against something hard. A tree. An acacia tree.

To your left, a body shifted itself awake. N’Jadaka also sat by your side, the two of you sharing the same bemused look. It was as if to ask ‘where are we’ but the two of you already knew.

This dream state was different from all the times before. For one, N’Jadaka seemed to be sporting his own consciousness this time. In fact, he was wearing a plain brown linen shirt and pants, probably prisoner grade, and looked almost deflated in his clothing. Dark rims lined his eyes, and a gray pallor underlay his skin. You wondered if he had also refused to eat in the past seven days.

“Here we go again,” he murmured. Your feelings exactly. Nothing surprised you at this point.

The heat would have been blistering if not for the cool currents circling between you two. He sighed deeply and got to his feet.

“I’m tired of games. Or maybe just tired.” He started walking ahead of you, and you quickly followed suit, deciding that following this volatile character was probably the lesser of two evils. Who knew when some wild beast could appear and maul you to death.

“You think I’m dead already?” he asked.

“Probably not.”

“I didn’t think so.” He said.

Then why did you ask? You wanted to say, but instead decided to say nothing. You stared ahead of you at the plain which seemed to extend for miles. Neither of you were sure exactly where you were going, but it felt nice to walk nevertheless.

“You said you had things to say, right?” You looked up at him to see him nod.

Suddenly he stopped and raised his head to the sky, eyes closed. Then he looked back at you.

“How do you do this?”

The question surprised you.

“Do what?”

“Stop being angry.”

Again, he was that young boy crying over his father’s fallen body. You closed your eyes as if to rid yourself of that image and looked down at the dry earth at your feet.

“Who told you I stopped?” You replied, a lie. You truly had stopped being angry. That unnatural peace within you had made you forgive, and you could only muster some frustration at the very fact that you were no longer enraged. Even that upset was inconsequential at this point. Bast had made you forgive him and it felt like a violation of your own free will. It was as if you had developed an entirely different character, and as uncomfortable as it was, there was nothing you could do to change it.

N’Jadaka didn’t respond to that and resumed his pace.

“I wonder what she wants this time,” you mused. No reply.

The two of you continued to walk.

Two statues, comprised of pure obsidian stone save for the twinkle of vibranium ore permeating the structures, appeared to rise at the horizon. Twin goddesses, Bast and Sekhmet, locked and intertwined in a struggle frozen in time. Sekhmet stood slightly higher, the sundisk atop her head, glowing alive with a fiery red-orange hue . The two of you watched in awe at the larger than life figures, casting immense shadows that washed over you the further you walked. At this point, you were no longer walking of your own accord, your feet moved itself.

If he dies, Sekhmet wins. There will be no more balance.

You prostrated yourself at the statue of Bast. N’Jadaka did the same at Sekhmet’s feet.

If you die, Sekhmet wins. There will be no more blessing.

You turned and faced each other. Both hands before you, your fingers interlaced, and you too were locked in struggle. N’Jadaka stood taller than you, mirroring the goddesses in battle. What lay behind his eyes was him no longer, neither were you yourself. A glow of red lined his irises, matching your own purple tint. 

Then everything faded out, and you awoke again in your bed, in a cold sweat. The dots had finally begun to connect.

N’Jadaka could not be executed because this would cause discord between the goddesses. And if the goddesses were angry…

Bast had tasked you with his protection, even if it did not make sense. Did she pity him? Could he be pitied?

Either way, until there were more answers and more revelations, N’Jadaka had to continue living.


	13. Chapter 13

“How do you not have a dress picked out?!” Asha nearly shrieked, running her hands through your wardrobe.

You shot her a dirty look as if to ask ‘Really?’ She scrunched up her face in retort.

“Just two weeks ago the whole country taught King T’Challa was dead, so is it really shocking that maybe it slipped my mind that his birthday feast would still happen?”

“I mean you live in the inner palace. You would have had to have known!” She insisted, shooting a glance at Amina, who leaned against the wall of your bedroom, picking her fingernails. Amina continued to look disinterested, denying Asha the support she was looking for.

“I have a lot on my mind.” A truth.

“More important than the King?”

Amina’s sharp look at you screamed ‘Don’t answer that.’ You artfully dodged the question, by turning your attention to one of the many dresses your friend had laid on the bed for you.

“What do you think about this one?” The dress you smoothed across your front now was a flowing maxi dress in purple, red and orange-toned ankara print. The sweetheart neckline left your arms and shoulders bare, but they would be covered by draping a soft matching scarf. Suitable enough for a priestess.

“That’s the first one I grabbed.” Asha said, a little suspicious but delighted once you tried it on completely and twirled around once. Amina’s eyes lit up and you beamed back at her. You did feel pretty. All that was left would be to tame your coils. You decided on a goddess halo braid for the soiree. You had a few hours until the dinner party would begin.

* * *

For someone as poised as T’Challa, he had a knack for extravagance when he felt like it. Opulence was only one of the words that described the theme of the venue that night. Stepping into the birthday feast hall felt like trespassing the grounds of heaven itself. Warm lights shone from above, illuminating gold and marble fixtures as well as floral arrangements of lilies and orchids that were the size of a middle school child.

Rows and rows of lavishly decorated tables filled a room the size of a football field, piled high with cured meats, spiced stews, seasoned starchy side dishes, and enough fruit and desserts to land someone in an instant diabetic coma. Accoutrements were as loud and jovial as the people themselves, with your own floor-length dress paling in comparison to many of the tribe princesses’ dresses. Nakia herself sported a shimmering forest-green mermaid dress with golden highlights and a plunging neckline that warranted a second look from most, if not all, men in attendance. She stayed close to T’Challa who wore a classic brown tunic but of a material fine enough that you could almost smell the royalty from a distance. They sat at the table of honor, flanked by Queen Ramonda whose regal smile was almost oppressive in its sincerity, and Shuri who appeared frankly nauseated by the amount of boo loving she’d have to watch close up.

Idly stuffing your face with meat pies, you sat at the first table from theirs on the right side, pretending to be fascinated by one of the stone centerpieces. Live drum music played as a vibrant backdrop to the evening.

You had just fulfilled your one and only duty in leading the ceremonial prayer for longevity and blessing before everyone could partake in the meal. Now, it was best to keep a low profile. After T’Challa called you out personally just yesterday, you did not want to invite any unwanted conversation or attention. You found yourself scanning the sea of guests for N’Jadaka as if it were not obvious why he wasn’t present. Even more unsettling was the fact that during T’Challa’s speech, he was reduced to one of the many “challenges” that he had gone through in the past year.

Once all guests had been served their fill of food and fun, Nakia led an exquisite performance of a war dance. Thereafter, the rest of the guests were invited to dance. At this time, T’Challa was now surrounded by a circle of his elder advisors, who praised him on another year of age and a successful reign so far. Since you had declined joining the dance floor, you couldn’t help but quietly listen in while you attacked a scoop of imported cardamom ice cream.

“When do you plan to execute the traitor?”

Your spoon clattered as it dropped, but the sound was quickly drowned out by the crowd. The cold dessert slid down your throat unimpeded, causing you to choke softly.

So Erik wasn’t just talking…

You could see T’Challa answering, his expression betraying discomfort, but you had trouble reading his lips from your vantage point. Only bits and pieces of conversation came through as you tried to tune out the rest of the event.

“The longer he sits in that cell, the more likely you will have a change of heart.”

“Of course he cannot be changed, why would you even suggest something of the sort?”

“He has disgraced the royal family, has he not?”

“There is already intel leaving the palace suggesting that you have kept him prisoner because you are afraid to kill him.”

“Who cares if he is part of the royal family? He lost.”

The elders now began to talk over each other, rendering the rest of the conversation unintelligible.

It did not help that a stranger now blocked your view, introducing himself as head counsel to the merchant elder. You politely introduced yourself, smiling weakly. The young man, not getting the hint, began to chat you up. Trying to keep focus on T’Challa and his advisors, you circumvented questions like who did you come with, how were you liking the party, and were you interested in dancing?

In the meantime, the elders eventually dispersed, leaving T’Challa seated back at his head table alone with a grave look on his face. T’Challa’s expressions were as difficult to read as usual. How you wanted to question him on whatever decision he had just made, but on what pretext could you do it safelyl? As it was, you had already crossed a line with him.

No longer could you find any happiness in all this noise. It was past time for you to retreat in your quarter. The young man who had invited himself into the seat next to you finally realized that you had stopped listening.

“Are you mad? Do you not hear me talking?”

“I’m very sorry but I think I must leave now.” You replied, rising abruptly to your feet. You attempted to leave, but either your quick movement or your new male friend’s spite had resulted in the fabric of your long dress getting caught out. A large rippp sounded in the air, quickly smothered by music and voices, right before you tripped and toppled to the ground.

The man behind you made an audible ‘tch’ sound as you hit the floor hard on your face. Gathering the rest of your dress in your arms, you ignored the throbbing pain in your cheek. Yup, you had definitely enough of this party.

Before you could rise and give this stranger the tongue-lashing of his life, T’Challa was already by your side to help you up by the arm.

“Disappear.” You heard him say to your slighted suitor. “Are you alright?” T’Challa’s voice lost its edge as he turned his attention to you.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, embarrassed. Touching the pain on your cheek made you wince, it was sure to swell. You pulled your arm away harsher than you intended, and made your way out of the feast hall. To your dismay, the king followed suit.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” T’Challa said, louder now that you were out of the public view. In one of the corridors, you gave him a confused look. You could tell he was not just asking about your face.

“Yes…?” You insisted. Knowing he would not leave you alone until he heard a more satisfying answer, you added: “I was just a bit clumsier than usual.” You smiled widely, albeit a bit insincerely.

“I hope your party is to your liking! I know you had a hard year so it must be nice to relax and enjoy for once, is it not?” Maybe you were laying it on a little bit too thick. T’Challa raised an eyebrow and then let out an exasperated sigh.

“When will this stop?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said.

He sighed again loudly, then waved you away. “The good thing is that this will be over soon.” This last part was flippant. “Thank you for attending. I will see you around later.”

This will be over soon.

Is that how casually he was going to talk about ending a life?

“Kunkani.”

This time you were stopping him in his tracks. He turned his head to give you a curious look, taken aback by the sudden steel in your voice.

“What have you decided?” You queried.

He knew what you were talking about, and this angered him. It was his birthday, for goodness’ sake.

“I don’t need to discuss that with you.” He dismissed.

“What. Have. You. Decided?” You repeated again slowly. Your shoulders squared, and your chin lifted. You were trying so hard to portray strength. It would be almost laughable to someone like him, if not so infuriating.

This time T’Challa was visibly upset. He walked to you until he was mere inches away, and you could feel yourself wanting to shrink but decided to stand your ground.

Stand mighty. Hold your king accountable.

“You’re serious?” He stared down at you, his eyes darkening.

Yes, you are serious.

“I have to know. As someone who is tasked to guide you spiritually in the future. As the daughter of Zuri.”

He gave a laugh that was somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

“When did you become so bold?” He asked, patting your head lightly. “From a girl so timid she could be bullied by a child half her age to challenging your king?”

When you’d been presented to the former King, Queen and son you had been about eleven years old, with no recollection of your life before then. T’Challa had looked at you curiously from afar in that time, and he continued to look at you that way even now. You were an amnesiac that his father had asked him to be gentle with. You later became his sister’s quiet peer mentor and companion. You were the high priest’s daughter. You were a girl whose brown skin reddened at his very smile, every time without fail. You were calm and serene. You were ever present but also blended in every room. You were somehow clumsy and elegant at once.

You never were this confrontational, this demanding. This was new.

T’Challa lowered his hand when your gaze remained fixed and unchanged. The patronizing gesture would not pacify you.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“My council has decided that he can’t be allowed to stay in prison.”

“So you will release him?”

No answer.

“You will exile him?”

No answer.

“You cannot kill him.” You warned. This interdiction apparently struck a nerve.

“I can do anything I want.” T’Challa quipped. “You seem to have trouble acknowledging who I am these days.”

“I know you can do anything you want to as the king of this nation. However, you are also tasked by Bast to be fair.” The muffled sound of distant music seemed to grow as loud as the distance between you at this moment. You had acknowledged this distance your whole life, a distance that T’Challa had rarely seemed to respect. However, today, for the first time it felt impassable, even for T’Challa.

“You are losing sight of your position in the palace. Perhaps I’ve been too kind to you.” T’Challa finally said, smoothing some imaginary wrinkles on his shirt. It was almost as if he were trying to smooth out his own behavior.

“Why would you save him if you planned to execute him anyway?”

T’Challa gave you an incredulous look. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“I’m going to leave now and we will pretend we never had this conversation.”

“There you are! What conversation?”

Nakia had suddenly arrived, her smile radiant but with eyes that betrayed concern. She linked an arm with T’Challa and nudged him slightly.

“I was wondering where you were,” she murmured, looking between him and then you. You bowed to her in greeting.

“I was just leaving,” you said, in a low voice. “Happy birthday, King T’Challa,” you said once more with a curtsy, before you parted ways. You could feel the stares burn holes in your backside as you walked away.


	14. Chapter 14

You weren’t going to let T’Challa doom this country to save his own reign. What to do… what to do…

As much as Amina and Shuri would bend over backwards to help you, neither of them had the power to release him. Moreover, how could you explain to Shuri why you were so attached to the man who had tried to kill her family?

Without stopping even to change your clothes, you made your way directly to the spiritual compound. It was late at night, and given that most of the acolytes had been at T’Challa’s ceremony, it was unlikely that anyone else would be around. This was ideal; what you were attempting to do now would require quiet and solitude.

You located the prayer chamber furthest back from the entrance and through the curtains you went. You got on your knees, bowing deeply so that your forehead touched the dirt. Three times you did this, then you pulled your shoes off and set them outside the chamber. Off went your torn dress, and you stood in the center of the circular room in nothing but your white cloth bra and underwear. On a shelf against one of the curved walls was a jar filled with a white salve you used to trace lines on your skin with the tips of your fingers. Down your arms, down your legs, and around your middle, you embellished your body. Carefully and slowly, you adorned your face with dots and lines. You loosened the braid in your hair, letting the long, thick coils fall to your shoulders.

Lighting short crimson candles one by one around the perimeter of the room, you let your mind clear. There was no time for second-guessing these actions. This time Bast would not come to you, you would ask her what to do directly.

Arm outstretched, you spun on your heels once, twice, three, four, five times letting red sand pour out of a loose fist. The beads around your waist appeared to glowed anticipation. You rewarded it with blood from the tip of your thumb, wincing slightly at the pain of the bite. A single drop you smeared on the bead directly below your navel, the only violet one of the bunch. Then you waited for another drop of blood to seep out of the tiny cut, and pressed it to the ground at the center of your sand circle.

The area within the circle gleamed; the soil was blessed. Next, you sat cross-legged at the center with your forearms rested along your thighs, your palms facing the sky. You closed your eyes.

Please tell me how to carry out your will, you called out to Bast.

Seconds passed, then minutes. Yet, as soon as you wanted to give up, the familiar sourceless wind picked up, running through your hair so that the cloud-like tresses rose, floating above you. The gale was strong enough that you almost felt suffocated in the small room. Nevertheless, you persisted, attempting to keep focus. Eyes closed, you pleaded with Bast.

You want me to save him. Please tell me how. I am powerless.

The winds picked up even faster, but you remained steadfast. For longer than you felt you could take, you were gasping for air, unable to breathe.

I will follow whatever path you want me to take.

The winds stopped, and your hair very slowly resettled on your shoulders by its own weight. Now opening your eyes, you knew what to do.

The winds had dispersed your sand emblem. You covered your body with a set of plain robes, so that only your face showed evidence of your ritual. You drew a hood over your head and crept into the Herb Garden. Despite a non-blooming season, a single herb shone brightly to your awe. This one, you plucked, inspecting it carefully in your hands for quality. You would need this for insurance.

“Nki, what are you doing?”

Amina’s voice startled you, and you turned on your haunches rapidly, stuffing the herb quickly into your robes to hide it from view as you stood up.

“I, uh..” you started, interrupting yourself with a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think anyone else was here,” you said, anxiously. Amina crossed the distance between you in seconds.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hissed in a low whisper. “Do you want to be killed?”

“Why are you following me?” You deflected.

Amina studied your face carefully, noticing the markings you traced with the ritual salve. She rubbed one of the lines off of your forehead with her index finger, testing the grit between her fingers.

“Did you just- “

“Amina, I have to go.” You said, curtly, turning to leave. She stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, her grip tight.

“I’m not allowed to let you go.” You turned and looked at her with such an aggrieved look that she recoiled almost instinctively.

“Who sent you?”

“Okoye.”

You turned to face her, your face twisted in disgust.

“Just how long has she had you trail me, Ami?”

She bit her lip, but didn’t answer.

“I need to go, Amina. I will explain later.” You tugged your arm away from her grip around your wrist now, but she remained steadfast.

“The problem is I…” She trailed off and sighed. “Just… put the herb back, and let’s go back to your quarters. I’ll pretend that I didn’t see what I just saw. I promise.” Amina insisted.

“Amina, I cannot.”

“Please.” She implored.

Your heart pounded hard in your chest, and your head lowered to the ground. What you were about to do next, you knew you’d regret for a very long time.

“Okay.” You said, not looking back at her. But as you turned, in a sleight of hand, you blew some of your ritual red sand in her face. The look of shock she had before she inhaled and lost consciousness would be burned into your memory.

You caught her as she collapsed, almost succumbing yourself to her weight.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Carefully, you lay her down on the ground beside the garden and touched your forehead to hers in apology. She would wake up in about an hour, giving you just enough time to do what you needed to do. Hopefully, she would forgive you sometime in the future.

* * *

You made your way to the Captives Quarters, the same way Amina had taken you weeks before. Sitting in the elevator, this time without her, was an excruciating ten minutes. You were committing treason, after all. There was no longer any way for you to justify your actions.

Once you had made it to the underground layer, you closed your eyes and attempted to numb your senses of hearing, smell, sound and touch. Your heart said left so you went left. You stalked through the corridors in this manner, allowing your inner voice to guide you past guards and towards him.

When you finally had made it outside the prince’s cell, you had that feeling of centering once again. Like you were stuck in one spot and the world seemed to stand still around you. You approached the opacified glass and pressed a hand to it. When the glass cleared up, N’Jadaka was standing before you, his hand pressed to yours on the other side of the glass.

“Kept me waiting long enough, babygirl.” He joked, the sound muffled by the thick glass and weighted ever so slightly with fatigue. He had known you were on your way.

“How sure are you that I’ve come to help you?” You quipped. He rose an inquisitive eyebrow, and you shook your head. “Never mind, just trust me.”

“Ain’t like I got a choice, do I ma?” He sassed. You shushed him. For this, you needed to concentrate.

You pushed your outstretched hand firmly through the screen, and ever so slowly you made progress through it. N’Jadaka watched you in shock as the cold glass give way for your palm to meet the warm calluses of his hand.

“For this next part you really have to trust me.,” you repeated. He nodded slowly, reluctantly.

“I’m serious. If your faith wavers even for a second, this will not work.” you said. Without giving him time to consolidate this new information, you slipped your fingers between his and pulled him by the hand as hard as you could towards you. His body slipped through the glass as if he were a ghost. You finally exhaled the long breath you had been holding in.

“Goddamn.” He whispered, under his breath, patting himself, inspecting every bit of his body in disbelief. You stood for a second in hushed excitement, in awe of your own neat little trick. For a moment, you wondered what new abilities would crop up by Bast’s blessing, a large grin spread on your face.

“We just gon stand here or you wanna get moving?” N’Jadaka asked, bringing you back to reality. He was scanning his surroundings, already planning out his escape. He was a former Navy Seal after all - stealth missions were routine to him.

You paused for a moment, frozen in thought. Again, you questioned yourself. Were you really going to run away with him? Where would you go? Would you even make it out? Could you trust that you could just continue to close your eyes, and just know what to do next?

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, N’Jadaka would not give you the time to spiral in self-doubt.

“Yeah, we’re bouta go right about now.” N’Jadaka informed you, hoisting you over the shoulder suddenly. Before you could even protest, he had started running at full speed. He had not even waited for you to give him the rest of the plan.

Either way, you gave up on fighting him. You had satisfied your end of the bargain, and now he would fulfill his. Whatever happened next… you hoped it would be for the best.


	15. Chapter 15

_How long exactly can this man run for?_ You were starting to feel the dull throb of ribs getting sore from the repeated impact of every step he took. This had gone on for about five minutes and you had had about enough.

“Is this really necessary?!” You shrieked, thumping him pointlessly on the back a couple of times.

“Nah, but it’s convenient as hell though.” He replied. Eventually, he plopped you down, but before you could straighten yourself up on your two feet, N’Jadaka pulled you back around a corner and softly clapped his large hand over your mouth. Your eyes grew wide in panic, but he put a finger to his lips, and brought you into a crouch with him.

Two guards passed by, their chattering louder as they approached. You wondered why you had not heard them initially while N’Jadaka clearly had. He peered around the wall and motioned for you to follow him.

You continued to sneak past station after station of surveillance in the castle. It was as though he knew the grounds like the back of his hand. Every footstep was quiet yet sure, and every turn was calculated. However, the most unnerving part of following him was that you seemed to traveling deeper and deeper to the center of the palace, rather than outside.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” You finally whispered, once you had reached the familiar ornate statues that adorned the entrance to the main wing. Instead of answering, he commanded you to stay hidden.

“Stay back.”

You nodded, and he went ahead, vanishing into the darkness. Out of view, you heard a muffled cry and a loud thud. Then a second.

N’Jadaka came back around to get you. You gulped, as you followed him back to collapsed bodies. Thankfully, bodies and not corpses. N’Jadaka caught you giving him a look, and raised an eyebrow. You quickly averted your eyes, looking to your feet.

Finally, the two of you stopped in a small room that seemed to house nothing but a large expansive mural. Your companion watched, almost transfixed at the image. On further inspection, you realized it was a painting depicting the royal family lineage from the time of the very first Black Panther to now. You noticed conspicuously that while his own father, T’Challa’s father and T’Challa and Shuri were accounted for in the image, N’Jadaka was not.

He made a sound between a half-hearted chuckle and a scoff, then reached into his shirt to pull out a plain necklace with a silver ring. He placed the ring on his finger and in seconds the mural appeared to dissolve. All that was left was a narrow, dark path and you both ventured inwards.

* * *

Nothing lay more than a foot before your eyes but pure darkness as you ventured through this secret passageway. However, staying close to N’Jadaka was a bit calming, if not dare you say, comforting. Never mind the fact that you were literally walking into the abyss with someone who could contend for the title of the real-life boogeyman. You made sure to keep a buffer of space between you as you followed closely behind him, so as to not accidentally touch him.

Too late. Losing your footing on what felt like uneven earth, you stumbled into his hard back. He stopped, and you felt a lead weight drop into your stomach.

“Walk in front of me.” He said, sternly. You obliged, nervously. He closed the distance between you however, such that you could almost feel his presence physically. A few moments passed as you walked in silence before you were brave enough to speak.

“How did you know exactly where to go?”

Again your words were met with silence. N’Jadaka really was not trying to answer any questions today. You guessed you would just stay curious.

Suddenly, your leading foot tapped metal, and you stopped. N’Jadaka pushed past you and felt the air in front of him with his hands, then you heard the heavy creak of a metal door sliding open. He climbed up a couple of metal steps and then reached out his hand for you to follow.

You climbed up and found yourself in what looked like the inside of an old train car, about ten feet long from back to front. N’Jadaka had flipped a switch that illuminated the small enclosed space, and now he sat at the other end of the vehicle before an antique-looking control panel with switches, buttons and levers. He worked busily for a couple moments until the car shook and roared with life and suddenly you were moving.

You took a seat finally, and leaned against the window beside you. Outside you could make out train tracks, revealed by the bright yellow headlights at the front of the train. You were pretty sure Wakanda hadn’t had trains this primitive in the last hundred years. These must have been one of the routes of the original vibranium mines in the city you read about as a kid. Clearly it must have been sapped dry of all of its resources, since it was so dark, missing the soft purple glow of vibranium ore. This would have been perfect for an escape route for the royal family, now that you thought about it. You took a passenger seat, deciding to allow your legs to rest for however long this break would allow you.

You watched N’Jadaka from behind, noting how his broad shoulders relaxed as though he escaped imprisonment in foreign territory on the daily. Pressing your own hand to your chest, you recognized your own steady heartbeat and irrational calm. You were running away from your homeland with the man who had tried to turn it on his head and who had also murdered your only family. Things had stopped making sense the moment this man had arrived.

N’Jadaka had ruined your life, but seemed to be giving you a new one. Contemplating this, sleep came to overtake you like a sly thief, your eyes closing shut on the image of N’Jadaka finally turning back to look at you.

* * *

Your eyes creaked open the moment you sensed the train screech to a halt. Disoriented for a brief moment, you jolted back to life as N’Jadaka gave you a look before dismounting the train. Following him in a hurry, you trailed him as he made his way out of the mine.

For the first time in your life, you were in what could only have been called uncharted territory. The chirp of crickets and buzz of small insects that flew by night were sounds foreign to you, as were the hum of mosquitoes that attempted to bite your face and hands, the only exposed skin they could get to. Even though it was the few hours that separated the late night and the early morning, the cool breeze generated by the foliage was offset by a sticky, oppressive heat surrounding the two of you. You continued to venture into the jungle following your partner’s lead, N’Jadaka not saying a word to you.

You walked for what felt like hours, feeling more and more idiotic the further you traveled. Pursuing this man who would not speak to you, throwing away your whole life for what you think you saw, what you think you heard, and what you think you felt? This was dumb, so very dumb, you mentally scolded yourself.

Finally, you stopped in your tracks. N’Jadaka kept walking for several steps longer, then stopped once he no longer felt the echoing of steps behind him. He turned to look at you, wordlessly.

“Where are we going?” You demanding to know, calling out to him.

In the brightness of the full moon, you could see his neutral, tough expression soften ever-so-slightly. Finally, that familiar smirk materialized once again. You realized that you had begun to miss it in the span of just a few hours.

“I was waiting for you to ask, babygirl. Looked like you’d follow me to the ends of the earth, no questions asked. It was cute, though, no lie.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“We’re gonna find shelter for the night.” He reassured you. “Then there’s a cabin out-”

Your blood-curdling scream cut him off, as a beast came out of seemingly nowhere in the deep jungle and charged directly towards you with all its might. Your fight or flight response did neither in this instance, and instead as you crouched in a protective stance, hands above you to protect your face, all of your muscles and joints seemed to freeze. Your eyes clamped shut, waiting for the worst.

Nothing happened.

Your eyes peered open, and you found yourself surrounded by a translucent protective barrier. The animal must have been rebuffed and stunned by the shield once it pounced onto you, because it steadied itself shakily on its paws, shaking its monstrous head aggressively side to side. Still frozen in place, your eyes darted around trying to make sense of what was going on. They fell on N’Jadaka who looked at you in concerned shock. The jungle cat now seemed to have renewed rage at missing an easy meal and now repositioned itself to charge once more.

Before it could spring a second time, N’Jadaka charged the beast shoulder-first like a linebacker, knocking the snarling jungle cat to the ground once more. He gave it a crushing blow on its snout and you held your breath as he delivered next blow after blow, blood splattering and staining his face and clothing.

As the creature let out its agonal breaths, N’Jadaka stayed kneeling on the ground, heaving with fatigue after having pummeled this now helpless creature into the soil. Your barrier dropped as you moved slowly towards him. It was so, so easy to forget how violent this man could be, and this was your reminder.

He stayed still, watching the animal die for a moment as you approached. You placed a hand gingerly on his shoulder, hoping to snap him out of his trance.

“Thank you, N’Jadaka. For protecting me.” You said, softly.

His breathing slowed and he rose to his feet. You took a few steps back to give him space. You wondered if you had made that barrier yourself or it was divine intervention, or somehow even N’Jadaka himself. It really would not have been so strange considering you’d just forced your hand through a wall like a ghost just hours ago. You’d figure out what was going on later.

“Let’s keep moving. We gotta find somewhere to sleep.” N’Jadaka replied, his voice no louder than a murmur.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you and trailed him closely. He stopped suddenly, turned to take a long look at you, and with his expression still neutral despite a new warmth behind his eyes, spoke again.

“Call me Erik from now on.”


	16. Chapter 16

The next day, you woke up to the sounds of birds chirping and the soft running water of a nearby stream. Then the widespread itch came. The bugs had gotten you through your robes somehow, and your skin was etched with raised bumps on all four limbs. You sat up under the makeshift lean-to Erik had built in the dead of night and scratched your legs exasperatedly.

Erik was nowhere to be found. You wondered where he had slept, if he did sleep. A small part of you wanted to panic at the thought of abandonment, but instead you pulled your knees to your chest, took a deep breath and focused on observing the terrain around you. He would return, you were sure of it… 90% sure.

By the height of the sun in the sky, you guessed it was about midday. Your stomach finally began to protest yesterday’s antics with a loud grumble and you tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in the pit of your belly. While gorging during T’Challa’s feast had lasted you quite a while, it was finally time to refuel. You shuddered at the idea of having to resort to eating bugs, and silently cursed yourself for not preparing better to camp out in the jungle. Maybe next time you’d pack a survival kit before starting your daring rescue.

“Finally awake, huh?”

Erik was walking towards you carrying a large bunch of greenish-yellow bananas, likely fresh from a felled tree. It was as though he had known you were starving. He tossed them in your direction and while you did catch them, the bunch fell on your lap harder than you expected. Erik ignored your wince of pain and took a seat next to you.

“Better eat fast so we can get going.”

With that, he pulled off two bananas and peeled both, eating them at once. Once he was done, he ripped off the bottoms of his soiled pants, revealing his well-developed calves. Unsatisfied with this, he did the same with the long sleeves of his shirt, tearing them effortlessly to free his arms from the heat.

“Aren’t you worried about mosquitoes?” You asked, peeling your own banana with just the tips of your likely dirty fingers. It was barely ripe, but edible.

“We won’t be out long.” You raised an eyebrow. “You’ll see,” he insisted.

You decided not to question it. The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence. Eventually, Erik got to his feet and started walking to the north with a purpose.

“Let’s move.”

You hurriedly obliged, ever afraid to be left behind.

* * *

It was when you finally reached a quaint cabin in the jungle that you had to say something. Your mouth hung open as Erik turned over a large fallen leaf by the side of the structure and pulled out the key that was laying underneath.

“N’Ja-.. I mean, Erik… did you-… are you clairvoyant? What the hell?” You were at a complete loss for words. How had this man legitimately prepared for everything?

He raised an eyebrow at you and then proceeded to unlock the door.

“No-no-no-no-no!” You protested the very sight before your eyes, following him into the small home. While this cabin obviously did not have the luxury of running water, electricity or gas, the fact that Erik had led you to a fully built shelter in the middle of literally nowhere equipped with a bed (!), a wood stove (!!), cabinets (!!!), and a fireplace (!!!!), was just too absurd for you to comprehend.

“This is unbelievable.” You said, swinging one of the cabinets open to reveal stacks of canned soup and beans, beef jerky in sealed plastic and bottles upon bottles of filtered water. “Unbelievable!”

You whipped around in shock, a box of powdered milk in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other. “Are you serious?! Is this really yours?”

That last question you probably did not want the complete answer to. “How did you know we’d need this?!”

Erik, for the first time since you met him, started to laugh.

Not the cocky or mocking laugh you were used to, but a true, unbridled, amused laugh. You were so surprised, the box you were holding almost slipped out of your fingers, making him laugh harder. Erik trying to get ahold of himself was humanizing but almost as bewildering as there being a fully stocked cabin in the woods just waiting for the two of you. Almost.

Erik wiped a tear from his eye, and sat down at the small round wooden table next to the stove. He waved you over to sit across from him.

“Put the peanut butter down ma, damn!” He said, his voice still light and entertained. Once you sat, he continued. “I was here for a little while before I showed up… Just planning. You know, in case shit went wrong.”

So he wasn’t 100% certain he’d take over the entire country single-handedly. I could have been fooled, you thought.

“How do you even know this place is safe?” You asked, looking around.

“Trust me, it’s safe.”

“I’ve been trusting you an awful lot in the past 24 hours.” You joked, but his expression darkened, and you let out a nervous laugh.

Erik suddenly got up and headed over to the bed. He grabbed the pillow and wordlessly beat the dust out of the mattress a couple of times before stripping down to his underwear without so much as a warning. Embarrassed, you averted your eyes.

“Shut up for a minute so I can take a quick nap.” He said, curtly. In less than a minute, he was fast asleep. You now were almost certain he’d been up all night.

That was abrupt. You were starting to get the sense that Erik was sensitive. Now what would you do while Erik was asleep?

You got up and continued to look around the cabin. In a closet you opened carefully to prevent creaking, you could find a machete, a fishing pole and a bucket. In a dresser, pushed to the wall opposite the bed, you could find three spare sets of clothing, including a pair of comfortable looking flannel pajama pants and a matching button-down shirt. Five pairs of boxers were neatly folded into one of the drawers. A towel, assorted combs in the other.. a boar bristle hairbrush? You rolled your eyes at the excess of it all. Who was this man trying to look nice for in the entire jungle?

From one of the cabin windows, you could see a cool-running stream in a short walk down a dirt path. It seemed like a good place to bathe, and you should probably take the opportunity while Erik was sleeping. You probably smelled rank anyway.

Walking down the path was mind-clearing, even more so when you could finally shed your dirty robes and slowly submerge yourself into the body of water. Under a small waterfall, you closed your eyes, letting the water crash onto your shoulders.

Water is cleansing. Water is good. Water would wash away your sins, water would replace your good food, your life in the castle. Could it? How long would it be until you were found? How long until N’Jadaka got tired of dragging you around and went off to do whatever men of his ilk did?

You exhaled heavily and sunk deeper into the water, so that you were up to your neck. You could see a couple of the gentler fauna peering from afar to get a drink. Antelope were graceful and kept their distance before drinking but you backed deeper into the base of the small waterfall cliff so that you were obscured from view. You weren’t exactly looking for another jungle cat encounter, especially naked and alone. 

Next steps were unclear, and Bast had not said anything in the past day. Now Erik only guided you and while you knew you had some sort of protection from harm from Bast, you were not sure how safe it could keep you from him if he changed his mind. You called out to her again, but no response came. Instead, you continued to sit for the next half-hour.

The next time you peered out, most of the animals were gone so you waded back out to the bank to grab your robes and rinse sweat and grime out of them as well. When you looked up, Erik was coming up the path towards you, but hadn’t spotted yet. Remembering you were naked, you swam back to your hiding spot hoping he wouldn’t spot you. Your heart pounded but he seemed to thankfully pass by you.

You decided to give it a few minutes before making your escape, but then you heard the sound of someone else plunging into the water.

Abandoning the need for discretion, you all but scrambled out of the water to cover up the indecent portions of your body with your sopping wet clothing.

“Ain’t like I’ve never seen titties before!” Erik’s voice rang out from behind as you ran down the path at full speed. You could feel your body grow so hot in embarrassment that you were pretty sure you’d probably instantly air-dried on your way back to the cabin.

* * *

You couldn’t face Erik once he swaggered back into the cabin. In fact, the moment you heard the front door swing open, you could feel your stomach do backflips. At least this time you were fully clothed, wearing the flannel pajamas you had located earlier while your robes hung to dry.

Erik did not say a word but you could almost feel him smirking as you gestured towards a meal placed on the table, eyes focused on the still burning stove. While he had been bathing, you had tried to figure out the best way to make something edible out of canned beans, instant rice and whatever vienna sausages were. Still, without any spices aside from salt and pepper, the food tasted like it had been doused in sugar and flour and had the texture of something that had been thawed and reheated daily for three weeks.

You put out the fire and turned to finally eat. Erik was already seated and making his way through his plate. Shirt off, he was brilliant to look at and you couldn’t help admiring his built chest. But those scars… You focused on filling your stomach, not your eyes. Shame on you.

Keeping your eyes on your plate, you chewed carefully, suddenly startled by a fork clattering on the table. You looked up at Erik.

“Did I… desecrate you or something?”

Your eyes grew wide.

“What?”

He ran his hands through his dreadlocks, letting out a sigh. “I mean, like, seeing you earlier, titties out and shit. Since you a priestess virgin and all.”

Now you lowered your fork hard on the table.

“Can we just not talk about it?” You asked, sternly, now more annoyed than embarrassed. Erik opened and closed his mouth, deciding against saying whatever he had in mind. Realizing he probably actually wasn’t meaning to be crass, you started to feel bad.

“Okay, well it’s not gonna rain fire and lightning so don’t worry about that.” you offered. “I can tell you’re really from the West with all that puritanical thinking though.”

Erik took your teasing surprisingly well. He smiled warmly.

“Your food tastes like ass, by the way.” He said, clearing his dish off the table.

You frowned. “I tried my best.”

Cheekily, he replied, “I know.”


	17. Chapter 17

Night was beginning to fall once again, and with it started a soft, pattering rain that all but drowned out the croaks of bullfrogs and hoot of jungle owls. You had been sitting outside the cabin for some fresh air, leafing through a worn copy of _The Autobiography of Malcolm X_ , but it was now time to return indoors to avoid the rain.

When you re-entered the cabin, Erik was writing on an old notepad, in neat, small script. While you couldn’t see exactly what he was writing, you were surprised by his careful cursive - you would have expected large block letters or chicken scratch to match his loud, abrasive personality. When he saw you approaching, he stopped scribbling and closed the notepad before addressing you.

“Your waist beads, are they Kimoyo beads or different?” he asked, brusquely. Before you could answer the question, he was standing before you, his hands had slipped under your shirt at waist level to get a grasp of your accessory.

You tensed automatically and sensing this, Erik whispered to calm down, and gently raised your shirt to your navel. Your heart quickened as he inspected each and every bead for technological capability.

“I’m checking if we can be tracked.” He said, letting go of your shirt. “Y’all wear those Kimoyo beads in all types of ways so I couldn’t be too sure.”

“These are religious.” You muttered under your breath, still feeling somewhat violated. Regardless, you sat down where he had reseated himself, opening his notepad once more.

You sat at the table quietly, the sound of the now-pouring rain hitting the roof underlining the uncomfortable tension in the room. You weren’t sure you wanted to continue to be around him, but you also knew you didn’t have a choice. You got the sense that Erik was starting to get just as uneasy being in such small quarters with you. His right leg bounced up and down, his foot tapping audibly under the table. It seemed like this was a place he was used to being alone in.

“How’d you get chosen?” Erik asked, not looking up from his notepad.

“Chosen?” You repeated, slowly, for clarification.

“You’re a priestess, right? How’d they choose you?”

“I don’t think it was chosen… Being-” you hesitated at the mention, “my father’s child, I think it was decided for me.”

Erik looked up now, observing your expression intently. You kept it blank intentionally, not wanting to be read. However, something about his look encouraged you to keep talking.

“I was adopted, so naturally I think I was pledged to service.” You paused for a moment, then continued. “I don’t remember anything about my life before I came to Wakanda.”

He said nothing in response, and went back to his work. The scritch-scratching of pencil against paper was starting to make you anxious, especially since you had opened up in that fashion. You never talked about being adopted, and his silence frustrated you.

You let out a small sigh, and reopened your book. After about another hour of reading, a loud yawn betrayed your fatigue, but you stayed seated, afraid to suggest sleeping on the only bed. Erik looked up at you again, his eyes showing not quite concern, but wariness.

“Go sleep,” he offered, flicking his chin towards the bed. “Imma be up a while longer.”

Reluctantly, you got to your feet, sliding the wooden chair carefully into the table. The idea of falling asleep with this man in the room was unnerving, but in moments you knew you’d pass out in the chair. Getting under the covers, you turned away from Erik to face the wall, so that you could no longer see him watch you as carefully as a hawk. You wished you could tell him just how overbearing his gaze could be, but to be honest, he probably was well aware.

Yet again, you were sleeping in the same room as a man who had the unnerving combination of the strength to snap you into a twig if he felt like it and the callousness to not care at all if he did. However, you reasoned that if he had meant to kill you, it would have happened a while ago. Plus, you both had seen that shield, generated in a moment’s panic. Hopefully, it would work just as well against him as it had for the beast you’d encountered.

You lay so pressed into the wall that your nose almost grazed the wood. Erik apparently had lied about staying up because the kerosene lamp that illuminated the room now had been put out, and the bed creaked under the weight of his body as he climbed in. You were now rigid as a board, but Erik kept his distance.

When he spoke to you, you almost jumped out of fear at his deep voice ringing out in the dark.

“Was Wakanda good to you?” he asked. “Coming from the outside and all?”

You hesitated before responding yes.

“At least they did right by someone.” Those words weren’t really addressed to you but they sat through your head.

At least they did right by someone.

What you heard instead was _Why couldn’t they do right by me?_

* * *

The next morning, Erik was gone.

At first you wondered. Then you waited. Then you worried. Finally, you wandered.

Up and down through those dirt paths, you searched for Erik, not believing that he could have actually left you in that cabin, alone, with no warning and without a trace. Except one thing: a small piece of paper, shoved between a page of the _Autobiography_ that you had dog-eared to bookmark and the following page, one that read “Thank you.” That had been there the entire time, hadn’t it? That couldn’t have been some kind of half-assed farewell message, could it? Of course not.

Maybe Erik had been attacked by a smarter, more clever animal, you reasoned. Maybe he’d been overtaken by a deep slumber somewhere and counted on you to wake him. Maybe he’d fallen into a ravine and hoped you would throw him a rope. Maybe he had heatstroke and you’d be the savior who provided him with fresh water and shade.

There was just no possible way in Bast’s good earth that he could have abandoned you like this.

In your aimless march, you had gone so far from the shelter that you had no idea how to return. Similarly, in the grand scheme of things, you truly were at a point of no return. You sank to your knees, your thighs and calves burning from hours of nonstop trekking. After searching all day, night was falling yet again.

What would you do now?

Now, you wept.


	18. Chapter 18

_“You can survive if you just blame him. Let him take the fall. Say he kidnapped you and you just don’t remember where he went. Okay?”_

_“I… can’t.”_

_“Just lie, Nkiru! He’s not even there to suffer any consequences!”_

_“I’m the one who broke him out. I can’t lie about that. It’s not even a believable lie. King T’Challa already suspected me long before all of this.”_

_Amina gave you an exasperated look._

_“If you stand in front of the king and do not give him up, you will die,” she both warned and pleaded._

_You bit your lip, the salty-sour taste of dried tears sharp on your tongue. You wanted to speak, but the words choked up in your throat. Tears yet again began to well up in your eyes, and you wondered if they would ever run out. You weren’t even sure what the use was of crying at this point, you’d done so much crying already. You had committed treason; tears would not spare you. Instead, you looked away from Amina, towards the door through which she came._

_Amina ran her hands through her dreads, and shut her eyes tightly, rubbing her temples. She opened the cell door and took you lightly yet firmly by the arm. Then a pair of vibranium-infused handcuffs clapped onto your wrists._

The evening of the day Erik had abandoned you, you had been discovered after wandering aimlessly, just a bit too far into the Wakandan borderlands. It’s not as if you knew where you were going. Some of the patrolling Border tribemen even questioned whether or not you were an insane person. You were unrecognizable as the priest’s daughter, wearing only a set of frayed pajamas and a dejected look on your ashen face. When you were delivered to the palace and finally thrown in jail, Amina in her pity had offered you a rope, a way out: _Plead to T’Challa. Beg for your old life back._

Yet, you refused, and as a result you were exiled.

Now, almost half a year later, you had found a home for yourself in an unassuming, rural village a several miles north of Wakanda’s territory. The locals were overall welcoming, and you appreciated their hospitality but kept your distance, for the most part. Carving your own locale up in the mountains and living quietly was enough for you.

You woke up early this morning, with the intent of deep cleaning your not-so-new home, trying to forget the memory of the last conversation you had with Amina as you swept and dusted. You, much like every other day, worked tirelessly to try to forget Erik. You even tried to forget Bast, to no longer hear her voice. To your misfortune, Bast wouldn’t forget you.

Over the scritch-scratch of handmade broom reeds, you could hear the patter of footsteps outside your entryway get louder and louder until they slowed to a stop just before your door. Multiple people had come by the sound of it. There was a problem in the village.

“Sisi, please come out!” You heard a young boy exclaim.

You stopped sweeping the floor of your thatch hut, setting the broom to rest on the wall and opened the door. Keeping a warm, inviting smile on your face, you welcomed the group of pre-adolescents clustered at your doorstep.

“Good morning, loves. What brings you all here?” You asked.

A particularly bold young man made his way through the small crowd and bowed, hands pressed firmly by his side. “Sisi, can you please come down to the village? My brother is sick. My family and I are worried.” He made his plea quickly yet determinedly like someone who wouldn’t possibly take no for an answer.

You patted his shoulder lightly, and reassured him with a nod.

“Just lead me to them. I’ll try my best.”

With that, you went back into your home to grab your supplies: a couple of clay containers with lids, three large banana leaves, and a mortar and pestle. Finally you plucked a tiny portion of the glowing purple herb that lay planted in a small pot. You may have left Wakanda, and you may have been trying to sever your connection with Bast, but this part of home you would keep with you forever. You were off to do some good.

* * *

As you made your way down to the village, children in tow, you passed by a slow-coursing river, where a group of middle-aged women washed their clothes downstream and younger women collected drinking water upstream. A few of the young women you had helped during the pains of labor and childbirth smiled and greeted you as you walked, while the older women tut-tutted when they saw you.

The village had mixed feelings about you once you had arrived. You had appeared suddenly, alone, in nothing but a robe with a small knapsack on your back. In exchange for a place to stay, you had offered services as a healer and midwife, presenting the sacred, glowing herb as your right to these privileges. They didn’t know what it meant, but you had arrived at just a time when a woman was dying of postpartum hemorrhage, and her husband and children would have taken help from anyone. Proving yourself as a skilled medicine woman, you quickly assumed a role in the village. However, your continual refusal to marry despite being well into your 20s was taken as personal offense to many of the older women who initially doted on you. Soon, rumors swirled that you were a witch who fabricated many of the same illnesses you cured. Still, to some you were a godsend, and while you were not desperate to be liked, you tried your very best to be integrated in your new home. You had no choice.

Today’s victim was a young man who had been hurt in some kind of hunting accident. Claw marks sank deeply into his chest and the flesh of his thighs. Coughing up a significant amount of blood, he heaved quickly and irregularly, unable to breathe.

Repositioning him so that he would not aspirate any of his blood, you asked for fresh water, and ground _uMhlakavuthwa_ plant with a miniscule bit of Heart-shaped Herb into a drinkable concoction.

“I’m preparing something he can drink.” You said, as you worked your mortar and pestle.

Once his airway was stable, you handed the concoction to the harried mother watching, a deeply-complected, life-weary woman whose hands shook as she tried to make her unconscious son drink, eyes darting between him and looking at you warily.

A few seconds passed and his breathing began to normalize.

Reassured, you checked the pulse in his arm, still a little bit cool to the touch but with a strengthening rhythm. He would do better, as the herb would help him regenerate some of his tissues to prevent his demise.

“He will do better by this afternoon,” you ensured the family. Then you removed some _uQhwangu-qhwangu_ leaf paste from one of your clay pots, and pressed it onto some of the largest wounds to decrease pain and swelling.

“Apply this to help with the pain for when he wakes up,” you instructed, showing the young boy who had come to your doorstep how it was done.

You stood up quickly and turned to leave, but the young boy who had pleaded with you grabbed you by the arm.

“Sisi, please stay until he has awoken.”

* * *

Life in this village was both calm and boring. An hour here seemed to stretch on forever but the freedom from the ever-present technology and the fast-paced society was well-appreciated. You felt as though you could meditate everywhere.

You wouldn’t lie and pretend that you didn’t miss the technology. Reading and writing under the gleam of a kerosene lamp in the night would only be romantic for about a week before it became a nuisance. It was startling to see how people lived without the comforts of Wakandan society within only a few miles of the metropolis. You decided, however, to quell your righteous indignation for the time being. There was no need to stir up anger where there was none. The villagers seemed perfectly content, and you would do the best you could to work on serving their health and spiritual needs. It was all you could do.

Sitting quietly in the small hut besides your patient’s cot, you let your mind wander. Since you had come down here, you hadn’t prepared anything to cook so you hoped that this family would feed you as recompense. The mother had left in a hurry, saying that she needed to prepare today’s meal after all. Even the young boy, Thandiwe, had run off somewhere. You liked his name, Thandiwe. One that is loved.

Much better than your own with a cryptic, maybe even inauspicious meaning.

Your patient’s sudden loud cough almost made you jump. Coming to his side, you saw that he still hadn’t woken up. Yet before you could sit back down, you took another hard look at his wounds. It was as though they had rearranged.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, your eyes widened in shock. Then the image of young Erik crying over his father’s wounds flashed into your memory once again. Then again an image flashed, that of Erik giving you that signature, cheeky smirk.

This time, instead of the soft gnaw of regret you were accustomed to, you were filled with an almost explosive level of rage and hurt. Your face grew hot, flaming hot; your fists tightened so hard the nails dug into your palms, and soon you began to hear her.

 _This is all their fault… You were used_ , a raspy, vitriolic voice whispered. _You were just a tool for his escape, nothing else…_

 _Redeemable?_ The voice scoffed. _He didn’t think twice about ruining your past, present and future? And Bast thinks he’s worthy of anything else than war and destruction. Ha!_

You needed to leave before you hurt this innocent man. You could feel a desire to kill and maim rise into you.

You ran out of the room in a hurry, still feeling as though your body would burn up into a crisp. You could barely speak, barely breathe, barely see as you ran. The calls of the villagers behind you were unintelligible as you ran past the very same river, up the mountain back to your home. If anyone had thought you were suspicious before, you definitely were now.

You burst through your door, finally releasing the breath you realized you had held as you crashed onto your cot. You breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out. Sekhmet no longer said a word. Your heart rate slowed and the invisible flames haunting your body seemed to subside. You pressed your face, hard, into the blankets and screamed through your teeth.

You didn’t want to go through this. You were tired of being used and tired of feeling these strong, untempered emotions. Were they even yours? These goddesses needed to let you exist, unbothered.

“Nkiru?”

Someone was in your home with you.


	19. Chapter 19

As though an electric shock had just coursed through you, your head jolted up at the sound of the voice. You whipped your head around fast enough to cause whiplash, only to see the person you least expected sitting cross-legged at your rickety, one-person dining table.

“…Kumkani?” Am I dreaming? “How long have you been here?”

T’Challa uncrossed his legs and got to his feet, approaching you carefully with a concerned look on his face. “Just a few moments. I was awaiting your return.”

“You don’t seem to be adapting too well to this new life of yours, Nkiru.” He stated, matter of factly. T’Challa continued to watch you as one watches a hurt animal, eyebrows furrowed and upturned, eyes intent and observing. Then he moved to a squat beside you, where you were kneeling at bedside. Waiting, still waiting.

You were in utter disbelief of the nerve of this man.

I’m not adapting too well? I’m not ADAPTING too well?!!

You gave yourself a moment to swallow hard and take a deep breath before you spoke. Suddenly, you wanted that wrath back, the killing urge that had dissipated just seconds ago to give you the courage to wrap your hands around his neck.

“I think I am adapting as well as I can to exile, my king.” You all but hissed, eyes narrowed. Rising, you made your way to the furthest end of the room to the entrance to your hut, trying to put some distance between the two of you and even subliminally encourage a swift exit. 

He did not move from that very spot and so you realized you’d have to do whatever you could to have him quickly state his piece and leave.

“And to what do I owe this honor?” You said, voice dripping in mock sweetness. You cocked your head to the side to add to the pseudo-coyness.

To this, he spun around on his heels with a soft chuckle. 

“You are as entertaining as ever.” He gave you his classic amused smile, like a parent amused by their toddler’s disapproval. You hated him more and more for this.

“And you, my king, are as patronizing as ever.” You quipped. 

This must have been effective because finally his warm, patient look faded to a business expression. T’Challa rose to his full height as if to remind you how strong and imposing he could be if he wanted to be. By this time, you also realized he was wearing his panther suit, which made you wonder even more what his purpose was.

“I’ll make this quick,” he said, in a flat tone.

“I’m all ears, as long as it’s worth breaking into my home.” T’Challa’s eyes narrowed at the sass.

“There is no need for all this anger. You know very well that I had no choice.”

To this, you laughed at the top of your lungs. Maybe you were truly going insane. All of this was out of character for you.

“Ha! YOU had no choice? Of course you had a choice. You chose to exile me instead of killing me. It’s your country, remember?” You exclaimed. “You!” - with this, you thrust your finger at him - “have all the power in Wakanda!”

“Would you have preferred to die?” T’Challa replied, coolly.

Something about the way he said it put ice in your veins, something you were not accustomed to with T’Challa. This was an Erik statement. You fell silent.

T’Challa sighed, as if in acknowledgement that he had gone too far. He took your arm and led you away from the exit to your bed, gesturing for you to sit down. He sat down next to you, and clasped hands over your one hand. His hands were warmer than you expected.

“I came to extend you an olive branch, now that I have the chance. No one else knows that I’m here.”

Where exactly could he have said he was going in the middle of the afternoon? You thought.

“Why?” You looked at him hard in the eyes, looking for a trace of dishonesty, trickery… something that would make more sense than him suddenly appearing to forgive you.

“I think you’ve suffered enough.” Even though he likely meant this to assure you, he now looked away, letting go of your hand to press his hands on this thighs. 

The king got up and started pacing around the room.

“You’ve been living in… less than optimal conditions.” You felt a twinge of offense as he looked around at your surroundings. You thought of a snide comment about stating the obvious but decided against it.

“I’m happy here.” You said, unconvincingly. You lived alone in a stranger’s land yet again, except this time you did not come with the innocence of a child but with the mark of a person who came for lack of better options. Maybe that was all the negative energy that some of the villagers sensed from you. 

You also had to admit, you didn’t want to be alone for the next time Sekhmet decided to speak to you. Maybe on your way back, you’d ask Asha to cleanse you, just so you could finally be done with all of this and leave it behind.

“What did you have in mind?” You asked.

* * *

Becoming a War Dog. That was T’Challa’s big plan.

You almost laughed yourself to tears until you realized T’Challa was dead serious. It did not matter how many times you reminded him that you were not exactly designed to fight, or to spy. This was the only out he gave you, take it or leave it.

You did have to admit one thing, however: it truly was the best solution. You couldn’t go back to Wakanda… at least not so soon. Too many people would talk about the king’s weakness if he couldn’t bring himself to punish even an insignificant temple girl. It set a bad precedent.

You looked carefully at the Kimoyo Card that T’Challa had left you before he was off, rubbing the cool metal with your thumb. You bit your lip anxiously. If you wanted to go, all you had to do was activate the ship in this large clearing, cloaked in an invisible force field. You’d leave without a trace, like you never existed. You had to recognize that it wouldn’t take long until the villagers started to question you for your freakout session earlier today. 

You took a step forward, paused, then took a step back. You’d never left this soil before, and now you were set for whatever destination was in place. A land where injustice based on skin tone was rampant and every interaction would be steeped in the context of hundreds of years of slavery and colonization.

In Wakanda, you were Wakandan. Everywhere else you’d be black first, and with that came a host of ugly assumptions that you’d learn to wade through and deflect. You’d get to know, intimately so, the world Erik so hated. 

You took a deep breath and boarded the ship.


	20. Chapter 20

Several hours later, you touched down in what appeared to be a large farm many miles north of Paris, France. You threw the bag that held your now very few worldly belongings over your shoulder and disembarked.

As T’Challa had assured you, there was someone waiting for you. Two people in fact - a very tall, very slender young woman and a man of similar shape and stature, standing with arms crossed, shrouded by the cover of night. They appeared to be siblings, and as they approached under the light of the stars, you confirmed this by their eerie similar high cheekbones, large cat-like eyes and small upturned noses. Crop circles and alien abductions came to mind and you internally reprimanded yourself.

“Molo, sisi.” The woman greeted you first, air-kissing both your cheeks. “I’m Gisèle but you can call me by my real name, Esihle.” 

The young man gave you a half-smile and shook your hand firmly instead.

“Lwazi, but I go by Léon.” 

You marveled at the way they spoke Xhosa with a French accent, if that was even possible, and allowed them to lead you to their home.

In true European fashion, their three bedroom apartment was small yet cozy, perched atop a not-so-authentic boulangerie-boucherie. Esihle directed you to a room right beside her own, while Lwazi nodded quickly made a beeline for his own room across the hall. 

“He just has work early in the morning. He’s excited to meet you as well.” She said, with a small laugh, sensing the unease growing inside of you. You nodded, while she pulled out a key. The door gave way with an extra push and a small creak, and you were brought into a bare room with white walls and bare wooden floors, a twin sized bed, and a mismatched desk and chair set in the corner. The room was lit just barely with a flickering desk lamp.

Maybe you looked a little underwhelmed because Esihle felt compelled to explain herself. 

“We usually reserve this room for short stay for a little extra cash, which is why it doesn’t have that lived-in look. Feel free to decorate as you like!” 

You nodded, setting your belongings down. You wanted to ask what exactly T’Challa had told them about you, but by the time you turned around to ask, the door was closing behind you and you could hear Esihle’s soft footsteps get quieter and quieter. It was fine, you guessed. It was taboo for War Dogs to discuss their missions anyway.

A flashing light from inside your bag caught your attention. You pulled out your kimoyo bracelet to find that your communication bead was flashing. You took a look at the message.

Brother told me what happened. I hope you are safe!

Your first instinct was to reply, but your heart gave you pause. Not today, you decided, and stuffed the bracelet back into your bag. Instead, you pulled out a small parcel wrapped in cloth, and unraveled it. The heart-shaped herb you had stolen so many months ago had not yet dried out, and still held its faint glow. You stared at it for a few moments, trying to remember why you had taken it in the first place. 

Then you heard a knock on the door again, and quickly rewrapped it and shoved it under the bed.

“Yes?”

“The shower is open if you would like to use it. Right is hot, and left is cold.” Esihle explained without coming in.

“Thank you!” You responded, truly thankful. A shower with running water, a million miles from home, could do you some good. 

* * *

“Juste un thé, s’il vous plait.” You requested in French, still unsteady on the tongue, yet remarkably good for having started from scratch only a month ago.

In a few moments, a steamy cup of black tea was set down before you, and you inhaled deeply of its aroma before taking your first sip.

“I still don’t understand how you can drink that stuff straight, Kiki.” Your companion said with a smile, her chin resting on one hand as she plopped one sugar cube, then two, then three and a fourth into her tiny cup of coffee. After dousing it with milk, she looked up at you and grinned, her large eyes gleaming, still stirring. The soft chatter of the other cafe patrons seemed to grow louder in the background as you fell into a daydream.

You had gotten used to Esihle in such a short time that you were almost sad you had not met her earlier. Immediately, she had slipped into the role of immigrant sponsor, and helped you get set up with all the basics. First, she had helped you transfer the few funds you had left in your Wakandan account (by some good fortune they had not frozen it) into a French bank to give you a bit of financial independence. While the exchange rate was better than you had expected - in fact, you were surprised there was an exchange rate at all given the fact that Wakanda was supposed to all but exist - you still needed to find a way to keep a living going. As if she had also anticipated this fact, in a week, you had a job as a housemaid for a couple that was frequently off on business. You had started just a few days ago, cleaning their home in the late evening. The last thing she promised to work on was “papers”, this foreign concept of having to prove you had the right to be in a particular country. You knew enough to be sure that it was a winding, complicated process, but War Dogs had that arranged pretty simply most of the time. You trusted her wholeheartedly. Esihle was sweet, and was truly as much of a gift of God as her name suggested.

Lwazi was different. He was short in speech, but not rude. Esihle stopped explaining his behavior several days in, and you accepted that this is how he’d be. Eventually once you had a steady stream of income, you would move out anyway, and the uncomfortable interactions would cease, if not stop.

Your life now was, dare you say it, good. While you weren’t a fan of cleaning house, the people you worked for treated you generally well. T’Challa never contacted you again, and while Shuri contacted you from time to time, you kept your responses pleasant but distant. Just enough to let her know you were still alive. You wanted to detach from that life.

You were afraid to hear Bast again. Or worse.

You perhaps missed Amina most of all, but you wouldn’t risk contacting her and getting her in trouble. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever see her again.

You and Esihle parted after your breakfast outing, as she had to run off to her job as a makeup artist for a local television station. A typical job for a spy, where there was a lot of traffic, and low threshold for shooting the breeze. In the evenings, she switched to her job as a bartender for an upscale lounge in Paris, and often came home very late.

You headed to the library to collect a few elementary school level books to work on your french and then headed home. The day passed slowly in the early afternoon and then quickly in the evening as it usually did. You prepared a meal for the three of you, you cleaned the apartment, and you read a little. Around half past six, you got dressed again to make your way across town to your client’s home. 

Rushing out of the room in order to make sure you didn’t miss the bus, you struggled to put your coat on. However, something in the corner of your eye stopped you in your tracks.

You turned quickly, a pit forming in your stomach. You were alone in this apartment, were you not? Why did you feel like something had just moved? 

You were staring at Lwazi’s door, which was closed shut as usual. You could have sworn you saw a shadow blip across that wall. Before you could spook yourself out, you walked out the door and let the door slam behind you, thanking the heavens that the door would automatically lock as you flew down the stairs.

* * *

_You’re being followed._

Your heart thumped. It wasn’t… it couldn’t be that voice? You weren’t even on the continent anymore. A whole month had passed before you had heard her.

You sat on the bus perfectly still, trying to blend into the dozens of people also on this bus, quietly musing over the events of the day and hoping to make it home to their families. You were normal. You were one of them. You didn’t hear things from goddesses. And no one was following you, you had just creeped yourself out. 

A three year-old boy started crying inconsolably disrupting the silence of the bus. No longer wanting to hear your own thoughts, you were thankful. 

* * *

By the time you reached your stop, you had calmed down. Your silly ass had thought it had heard Bast again. Ha! Stepping off the bus was cathartic, and you mixed into the horde of people walking the urban landscape. A couple blocks from here, you would reach the penthouse apartment of the rich Americans you worked for. Perhaps the reason they wanted you to come in so late was because of the separate entrance. Once again, you decided not to ask too many questions. 

You entered the front door and saluted the doorman, then took a sharp left once you were through the double doors, the opposite way from the main elevators. Once you entered a small, round elevator, you pressed the only button on it to the top floor and let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You would do your work quickly, and then maybe time it so that you got home when Lwazi or Esihle were home. Probably Lwazi since he tended to stop driving at 10pm, having once stated that he hated picking up any customers after that time since they were all drunk. You could sit for a couple of hours once you were done tidying up and watch some TV before you headed back.

The elevator seemed to take longer to climb all 25 floors today, but it was probably your anxiety. The ding finally came, and you stepped out before you heard it again.

_You’re being watched._

Your heart thumped hard once, then faster and faster and faster until you had to get out. Now you were repeatedly jabbing the elevator button in a panic, waves of dread washing over you, until suddenly you felt a sharp pinch in your neck. Before you could realize what was happening, your legs gave out beneath you and your protesting mind was settled by a quickly passing fog.


	21. Chapter 21

A whip of blinding pain and a shrill ringing in the ears jolted you back into consciousness and you opened your heavy, heavy eyelids. A familiar face glowered over you, his head tilted at an unnatural angle… No, you were horizontal, lying on the cold ground, collapsed against the wall in the hallway leading up to your client’s suite. 

The elevator…

“Don’t even think about it.” Lwazi growled.

Your eyes refocused to look at him. The side of your head that made contact with the ground throbbed and you could feel something lukewarm and sticky seeping through your curls. Your eyes continued to go in and out of focus as you lay still, too fatigued to move. It was like you had lost control over your limbs. He had drugged you. 

Lwazi was going to kill you, and likely had planned to all along. Somehow, you were not at all surprised. It had seemed all too easy for you to just leave and live comfortably in France after supposedly trying to overthrow your very own king. You just wondered why King T’Challa would even bother having you slain outside of Wakanda. He was within his jurisdiction to do whatever he wanted on his territory. It’s not as if the rumor mill was not full of stories of these off-site executions.

Maybe it was more pleasurable to do it this way, now that you had dared to grow comfortable and ease yourself into a different life. Now you had been worn down by this new day to day life, no longer had the stubborn resolve of a rebel and had presumably found new things to live for. Only now would dying be painful, now that you harbored hopes for the future.

Maybe King T’Challa was aiming to look more merciful for the public. Executing a priestess would not look good no matter how much detail they revealed about your treachery. He was the benevolent king after all, universally loved and wise. He would never harm someone he grew up with. He would never hurt you.

Lwazi squatted before you as you lay helplessly. He nudged your forehead roughly with his pointer finger and smirked.

“You really are smart, aren’t you? It’s almost as if you already know what’s going on.” He snarled in Xhosa. This was probably the longest string of words he’d spoken to you since you first met, you realized.

You didn’t respond. While your heart was pounding in your chest, the last thing you wanted was a report of how fearful you had looked as you died. 

It was almost comical. The guy who looked and acted like a serial killer actually turned out to be your murderer. Sometimes people are just as suspicious as they seem. Maybe you and your father would laugh about it in the afterlife.

Your father. Would he be ashamed of you? Would he understand? Would he think you deserved to die?

At this thought, a tear escaped your eye and Lwazi’s catlike ones twinkled with glee. 

“Ah, there’s that emotion I was looking for.” 

As though reassured, he pulled out a small pocket knife. An ordinary weapon to end an ordinary life. 

“No hard feelings. I’m just following orders.” His bemused tone said otherwise as he whispered into your ear, hot breath tickling your ear. Your skin began to crawl. 

You closed your eyes, waiting for the knife to carve your skin, hoping that he’d be quick. But instead, you heard a stomach-turning crack, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.

“Can’t stay out of trouble for five seconds, can ya, babygirl?”

That voice made you frantic, and you couldn’t believe your ears. But you could believe your eyes as you opened them. 

“Erik?”

“ _Erik?_ ” He repeated his own name, in a mocking impression of your own voice. “The fuck are you doing here, Nkiru?”

You were at a loss for words, yet again. Where Lwazi had squatted before you, jeering at your body laid on the ground, Erik now stood. Behind him, you could see Lwazi was motionless. Dead. In mere seconds. Now it was not an issue of distorted perspective; your would-be killer’s neck bent at an odd angle, obviously broken, his eyes still open in shock. The sight of it brought a salty and sour taste in your mouth, and you fought the urge to dry heave. You looked away, unable to turn your head, now that you were paralyzed. 

“Get off the floor.” He ordered. 

“I… can’t.”

He rolled his eyes and reached down to lift you, but was thrown back by the opposing wall by a glowing purple light. Your protective barrier you had once generated before, late but ever present, enveloped you in a brilliant sphere.

Erik grimaced in pain as he slumped down onto his backside, ready to shout expletives at you, but his mouth hung open as he watched you suddenly burst into hot tears.

“Stay the fuck away, you… you monster!”

Helpless, laying on the ground, having to accept a pity rescue from the very man who ruined your life… it was all too much. Your childhood crush, or role model, or something in between, now trying to kill you all because of this man. Living in exile because of this man. Your father dying because of this man. Having to answer to a goddess that will not give you clear directions because of this man. 

Erik actually looked… upset? You didn’t care.

“Was I supposed to say thank you for the daring rescue?” You spat. A fire was rising in your body and you felt it surge through your arms and legs. You rose to your feet.

Hot and breathless and full of rage, you stepped towards him, your sphere shrinking until the glow wrapped around you like a wrap, now red and searing.

“Do you think this makes us even, N’Jadaka?” You stressed his name like it was a curse word.

He looked at you in terrifying awe. For the first time since you had ever met him, Erik looked… afraid.

You were now glowering over him, your faces just inches apart. Hands balled into fists, jaw clenched, hair almost up in flames like the rest of your body. You were ready to kill. 

Erik’s eyes met your furious gaze. You wished he would say something smart. You wanted to rip him apart, you were now sure you could. You wanted him to give you just one more reason. Just one more.

Do it. Tear him apart. I would lend you all my strength, the warlike queen sang into your ears.

The trickster gold glint in Erik’s eyes seemed to fade as he stared into yours. You only saw red and you wanted to see more red. You wanted to see his body as broken as Lwazi’s neck was right now, as broken as your heart was.

He’d broken you, but the last straw was today. It wasn’t all he had done while in Wakanda. It was the simple fact that he stood before you today, without warning, and out of nowhere. It was the fact that you had sought to understand him, and he abandoned you, only to reappear before you to save what meager remains of a life you had left, just so he could scatter those scraps too.

You sat on your haunches before him. You liked the way his back pressed further into the distressed wall behind him, bracing himself for whatever you planned to do next. You liked that for once, he was afraid of what you would do.

“I. will. not. let. you. destroy. me.” You seethed.

Erik had run out of smart things to say. He continued to match your gaze. His eyes lowered to your lips, then up to your eyes again, softer this time. 

“I’m going to kill you before you kill me, Erik N’Jadaka Stevens.”

Erik moved suddenly, so suddenly that you swatted at his face in defense, but he caught your wrist before you could make contact. You could see him wince in pain from the contact of the skin of his palm and your red-hot skin.

Then he pressed his lips to yours.

Your heart, previously pounding like a talking drum, almost slowed to a stop, and you could feel your offenses and defenses failing you embarrassingly fast. Your body cooled rapidly like you’d been doused in ice water, then seemed to warm up again, like you were being reset. The throb in your head vanished, and now your head felt light as though you couldn’t breathe.

Erik pulled you in with his other arm so that you straddled him, your knees touching the wall behind him. Off guard, you pulled away for a second, looking at him in shock, waiting for an explanation.

“I missed you.” He said plainly, and pressed his lips to yours a second time. This time, your lips parted for him and you let his arms wrap around your waist to kiss you more deeply. This time, you allowed yourself to feel his embrace and inhale of his scent.

“How did you know where I was this whole time?” You said, breathlessly once you pulled apart.

“I didn’t.” He responded. You didn’t understand, but again your lips met and suddenly you no longer needed to understand.

All in due time. 

The villain of the story, the one who had ruined your life among countless others, now embraced you hungrily, like a beggar at a feast. After you had threatened to kill him. After he had actually killed someone, and said someone laid in a broken mess just a couple feet away from your make out session.

He was not off the hook yet. He’d have to answer for his crimes. 

All in due time.


	22. Chapter 22

You and Erik were now riding back down the elevator, having left Lwazi’s body behind. A sensation of unease from knowing that you had been uprooted, yet again, settled in the pit of your stomach. Nevertheless, you remained assured. This time, you intuited that you would remain with Erik for the long run. Even better, you knew this time that you were stronger with Bast’s protection within you.

“Stay right behind me, I gotta make a few stops.” Erik ordered as you left the apartment complex behind. He was holding onto your wrist just a little too tight as he brought you along, but this time his grip was more protective than domineering; as if he was afraid that if he let you go, you’d disappear. 

You walked together for about ten minutes until he led you down a couple steps into a dark alleyway. His hand lowered slowly to interlock with your fingers before he stood before two burly, mean-looking men guarding a side hall. Erik flashed a card he fished out of his back pocket, and they stepped aside while he escorted you inwards. You were struck with the noise and smells of a pleasantly crowded hookah bar lounge. The swirls of fragrant smoke, mirrors, booming Afrobeats music overhead, and the laughter and screams of way too many drunk and joyous people almost disoriented you, but Erik’s hand holding yours kept you steady as he led you further and further back into the fray.

Moments later, the two of you arrived at a room with a second set of bouncers and Erik flashed the backside of the same card he’d used to enter the lounge. 

This time, a man, who to you quite literally was the size of a mountain, sat up from his stool, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“She,” he motioned to you, “has to go if you want to see the boss back here. You wouldn’t want her to end up staying here with us, would you?” His French was spoken in a deep, low voice and betrayed a Maghrebian accent. 

Erik smirked, as though entertained by the thought of a man actively trying to intimidate him by something as insignificant as size. He was still holding your hand, and held your hands clasped together up to imply that you were together. Your face started to flush, and suddenly you felt excessively underdressed in your yoga pants and a company T-shirt.

“Don’t worry, the boss won’t confuse her with them bitches you got in here.” He replied in English.

The Mountain raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “It’s your call, _chef_ ,” he said, still responding in French as he stood aside, eyeing you closely as you followed carefully behind Erik. 

If you had thought you were underdressed before, you were probably wearing more fabric than all the women combined in this room. Naked dancers of all shapes, shades and sizes twirled up and down poles, doing their best to entertain the sharply-dressed men playing pool, smoking cigarettes and enjoying elaborate lap teases. A couple of the men fixed their stares on you as if they were shocked to see a person with breasts not exposed for their entertainment, and were quickly redirected by the women swindling them out of their cash with their God-given assets.

You gave Erik a confused look, and while he wasn’t looking at you, you could tell by his smirk that he was amused by your reaction.

I’ll explain later, he seemed to convey through a squeeze of your hand.

“Ahhhhh, _mais alors, je te retrouve finalement_!” A mature-appearing and extremely well-kept, olive-skinned man exclaimed, bounding from where he was seated surrounded by the prettiest of all the women in the room to rush over to Erik, arms outstretched. You can’t have imagined the look Erik gave this man, but said mister quickly diverted paths from him to instead cup heavily jeweled hands around your face, so it must have been terrifying.

“And who might this be? A gift perhaps?” He asked, moving your head from side to side as though calculating how much you could earn in a night. This close up, you could see the man’s salt and pepper curls were slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

“Not her.” Erik said, clearing his throat, and the older man stepped back, flashing a grin with teeth so white they had to be fake. 

“This is what I got to offer.” Erik stated, clearly starting to get annoyed by the antics. In what looked like a sleight of hand, he produced a small piece of vibranium ore, the size of a walnut between his fingers.

The man appeared to visibly salivate just looking at that small piece of metal. Erik closed his fist around the piece of ore.

“Pay up.”

The club owner raised both eyebrows then let his expression settle into an even more malicious grin. 

“As you wish.” He turned his back on the two of you and clapped his hands once. As though on cue, the music seemed to lower, and a couple of the other patrons perked their heads up to see what had disrupted the mood.

“ _Allez-y_! Bring the young _monsieur_ his compensation. Fair’s fair.” One of his subordinates brought over a briefcase, which when opened was filled to the brim with Euros.

“Or would you prefer American money?” The man taunted. Erik smirked back. “Yeah, actually, I would.”

Another lackey brought over an identical briefcase with roughly the same volume of cold, hard, American Benjamins. Erik passed the ore with one hand and held on to the suitcase in the other, and the transfer was complete. 

“Nice doing business with y’all.” He said, loudly to the group. “Let’s bounce,” he said in a low voice to you, as he took a couple steps back to exit the room.

The moment he turned his back, you heard the crack of a gunshot and before you could think, you were acting, materializing your shield against the sudden rain of gunfire that had started the moment Erik turned to leave. 

“Damn, I must be growing sloppy.” Erik thought out loud, as the two of you ran, both hoping the shield would hold up for the time, it would take you to run out of the club inside a club. Holding the suitcase like a battering ram and with you close behind, Erik slammed into the reinforced door with all of his force. Thankfully, it gave in, and the two of you rolled outside past the guards who hadn’t yet gotten the memo to stop your exit. 

As you scrambled to your feet (turns out you weren’t as nimble as Erik), your shield faded and you narrowly missed a bullet to your head. You let out a sharp gasp in panic.

“Dammit, Nki!” Erik yelled, already several yards away. He ran back to scoop you off the ground and hoist you over his shoulder before you guys kept moving. 

“Fucking slow as shit..” he whispered under his breath. “Put that shield back up if you can.”

“I’m trying!” You exclaimed, but you couldn’t reach that level of control you had back then, especially with the screams of previously inebriated people recognizing danger and pouring out of the room in a panic. Thankfully, you eventually made it far enough that you wouldn’t need it anymore at this point, as you and Erik melded into the crowd of people. He put you down so you stood out less in the throng of people now littering the street, and the two of you ran off into the night. 

* * *

“So that’s what you were doing in France?” 

You and Erik had finally made it to the hotel room he had been staying in, bodies and wads of cash intact. You sat on the edge of his bed while he sat on the floor, back against the foot of the mattress as he counted the bills.

“Getting paid?” He scoffed. “Yeah, of course, babygirl.”

“Does it usually end like this?”

He snorted, and looked up at you. His brownish-golden eyes twinkled as he looked at you.

“Nah, but let’s say I was off my game today… A little distracted.” He said, eyeing you up and down. You suddenly felt a warmth from your face downward, and you looked away. 

“Sike nah,” he said, with a light chuckle. You threw a pillow at him at his face.

“So you wanna play like that?” He said, his laugh even lighter. He got up, sliding the briefcase under the bed with a bare foot and hooking his arm around your neck from the side to pin you softly onto the bed, on your back.

You were gazing into each other’s eyes yet again, feeling an almost magnetic attraction in the space between you. Your breathing slowed, body tense in anticipation of what would happen next.

To your misfortune, or maybe good fortune, the sound of a phone vibrating on Erik’s person dispelled the tension and Erik shifted away from you to look at the device, running his hand through his locs and tapping his foot impatiently. 

It was Lwazi’s phone, confiscated off his corpse, and on the screen, Esihle’s phone number was flashing. A lump formed in your throat as you realized.

Erik let the phone ring in his hand four times then laid it down beside him. A notification of a missed call and then a voicemail flashed across the screen. He played the voicemail out loud.

“Brother, where are you?! And why aren’t you picking up your phone? It shouldn’t take so long to get rid of one helpless girl! … Fine…. Call me back, I’m starting to get concerned.” Esihle’s voice was high and frantic.

Your heart fell as the message ended and you slowly pulled your knees to your chest, shaking all the while.

You couldn’t trust anyone, ever, you realized. Even though you suspected that Esihle would probably be in on Lwazi’s “tasks”, a small part of you was hoping that she would not have been a part of it. You were simply put, crushed.

Erik got up wordlessly, dumped Lwazi’s phone in the nearest trash can and went to the bathroom, closing the door sharply behind him. 

The sounds of the high-pressure shower turning on was soon drowned out by a sudden deafening ringing in your ears.

When Erik finally came out, anywhere from five minutes to an hour later (you had lost track of time in your dissociation), you could see a fresh, cherry-red, bloody spot on his chest.


End file.
